Still Alive
by Miss Saigon
Summary: Four years after Harry Potter's 'death', a man arrives at Hogwarts. His only friend is a ghost, and it's not only memories, or the lack of them, that haunt him as he tries to rebuild his life. AU (Canon to OOtP only, SA universe) COMPLETE.
1. The End of the Beginning

**A/N: This story is written using the plot of _Harry Potter_ up to _The Order of the Phoenix. _Sixth year occurred with little incident, and seventh year… well… you'll just have to see, won't you? **

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**1**

Muggleborn Hogwarts student Beth Green was sitting alone on the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, doing her Transfiguration homework.

She was a third year, but she didn't feel like going to Hogsmeade. She'd gone the last time and had got bored after going to the sweet shop and the book store – and besides, Hogsmeade always involved a lot of walking. Exercise was her one true hate. Her classmates told her she was mad to miss out on the opportunity, but they called her mad anyway. At least _she_ was going to get her homework done before Sunday evening, and it was peaceful out here on the stairs.

_Describe three ways in which switching spells can be applied to substitute for continental Transfiguration. _Beth sighed and pushed her hair behind her ear, and it immediately sprang back again. She hated her hair. It was brown and springy and constantly getting in the way.

One of the doors to the Entrance Hall started to creak open. Beth looked up, quickly, thinking it must be the students back already. Had there been some accident? An attack? Or maybe it was one of the teachers, back early to mark some papers?

It wasn't either. In the doorway, holding tight onto the heavy oaken door as if for support was… a creature. It was the height of a man, and had two arms, two legs and a head like a man, but it was so wild and overgrown and altogether frightening that Beth grabbed her books and made to run.

"Wait –" the thing croaked.

Beth stopped, hardly daring to breath, and turned to face the thing that had spoken to her. It did not speak again, but took two shuddering steps forward… and collapsed. The door closed with a clunk behind the fallen figure. "Um… hello?" Beth whispered. There was no answer. Leaving her homework, quill and ink on the stairs, she got up tentatively and took a few timid steps towards it. "Are you okay?"

The thing stirred. Beth carefully stayed out of reach as the thing looked up at her. As its eyes met hers she gasped and took a step back. It had matted, tangled hair that looked black but it was impossible to tell beneath the dirt and it almost reached to his waist. Beth knew it was a man because a scraggly beard covered his mouth area and chin and reached to his collarbone. There was a cut on his forehead that looked infected – pus oozed from it, and there was blood streaking down one cheek. He was wearing what looked like well-made robes – they were blue silk and untorn although obviously soaking wet. He was holding one hand in the folds of the garments, and the area around them was soaked in something red…

Beth held one hand to her mouth and looked back up at the creature's face. The eyes…

There was nothing extraordinary about the eyes. They were dark grey and seemed to see right through her, but they were neither red, nor gaping black holes, either of which she might have expected. One was surrounded with thick white scars. This somehow shocked her more than if she'd seen something horrible.

"Hermione?" the wild man croaked.

Beth took another step back as the man squinted. "No," he said, his voice still hoarse and ragged. "You're too young. What's your name?"

Beth did not know why she answered, but she did. "I'm Beth," she said, quietly, walking slowly backwards towards her things on the steps

"Please…" said the wild man. "Come back…"

Beth ran. Grabbing her bag and stuffing her parchment and quills inside it, she hurtled up the marble stairs as fast as her plump legs could carry her. Panting, she took another stairway and turned sharply right. Only one teacher, barring the Headmaster and Professor Trelawny, had remained in Hogwarts while the others went to Hogsmeade – Beth knew because she'd watched them all leave. Her Charms Professor was here, though… somewhere…

Finding the office at last, Beth pounded on the door with her fists. Professor Granger opened it. "Miss Green?"

"Professor!" Beth gasped. "Professor, I –"

"Miss Green – Beth, are you all right?"

"There's a… man… downstairs…"

"A man?"

"It's _horrible, _he…"

"Take me to him." Professor Granger grabbed her cloak and closed the office door behind her as she led Beth out into the corridor. "You did the right thing to come and find me, Miss Green. Did this man say anything to you?"

"He didn't want me to leave – he looks really beaten up," she added. She was still out of breath but felt better now they were at normal walking speed. "And…well…"

"And what, Miss Green?"

"Um, he called me 'Hermione'. I think he thought I might be you, Professor."

Professor Granger stopped in her tracks. She looked at Beth as though seeing her for the first time. "Hurry," she said suddenly, and sped up. _Oh not again,_ Beth groaned inwardly, but started running again to keep up with the older woman's stride.

The man lay collapsed in the centre of Entrance Hall – he'd obviously crawled a little before giving up. Professor Granger did not stop; she merely came within five metres of the fallen wild man, pulled out her wand and levitated him, gently. As he rose into the air, his arms fell to either side of his body, revealing a hand missing two fingers, one of the stumps oozing pus and blood, making Beth feel sick. The Charms Professor also seemed sickened, but only before she noticed the fold of cloth that had fallen aside with her spell. The blue robes were decorated in one corner with a silver snake curling around a large letter M.

"What the…" Professor Granger knelt by the levitated figure to examine the delicately embroidered crest. Standing up, she looked at the man's tattered face, standing still for a few minutes without saying anything. There was the steady drip… drip… of… of what? Beth noticed for the first time that the man's robes were soaking wet. They dripped muddy brown water onto the floor.

"Um… Professor?"

Professor Granger jumped as though she'd forgotten anyone was there.

"Should we take him to the hospital wing?"

"Yes," her teacher said, absent-mindedly. "Yes, that's a good idea. Miss Green, please go and fetch Professor Dumbledore and Professor – oh no, they've all gone to Hogsmeade, haven't they?"

"Professor Dumbledore is still here," said Beth, helpfully.

"Really? Oh, good. Go and fetch him for me, would you please? The password is 'Ice Mice'. And when Professor Snape returns, ask him if he would care to join us in the hospital wing, as well."

"Professor _Snape_?" Beth disliked the greasy Potions Master and did not fancy the idea of asking him for anything, even if it was for another teacher.

"Yes, Miss Green, Professor Snape," said the Charms Professor, switching into authoritative teacher mode. "I will be escorting our guest to the hospital wing. I will see you there."

"Me?"

"Yes, no doubt we will need an errand runner. Go, now!"

A runner, thought Beth, as she sped up the stairs, this time leaving her bag in the Entrance Hall – she could return for it later. More running – just great. The most exciting thing that's happened to me for _ages _and it has to involve running.

She had to stop to breath and ease a stitch every so often, but somehow she made it to Dumbledore's gargoyle. "Ice Mice!" she panted, and the gargoyle sprang aside, allowing her to climb onto the moving staircase. Thanking Merlin for the wizarding equivalent of escalators, Beth caught her breath until she reached the top and she could hop onto the platform and knock on Dumbledore's door. She'd only been here once before and it had been for something she hadn't even done – thankfully she'd been let off and had stayed resolutely away from Professor Snape for a long time afterwards.

"Do come in," said a cheery voice. Beth entered.

"Professor Dumbledore?"

The old man was sitting behind his desk, working his way through a mound of paperwork. He motioned to it as she came in. "Dear me. Parchment seems so thin when it's a single sheet, but pile it up in numbers of a hundred or so and it suddenly becomes so daunting. May I help you, Miss Green?"

Beth had already gotten over Dumbledore's innate talent for knowing the first and last names of every single student in the school, so she answered without surprise. "Professor Granger says to come quickly. There's a man she's taking to the hospital wing."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, standing up. "Lead the way then, my dear."

Beth was fairly sure Dumbledore knew the way to the hospital wing, so she walked beside him instead. Gratefully, she noticed that Dumbledore shortened his steps so that she could keep up with him. She was tired of running.

"Do you know the man's name, Miss Green?" Dumbledore asked as they walked.

"Um… no," said Beth. "But he looks like a tramp, really. I bet he's just some Muggle that…" then she stopped. "But he knew Professor Granger, I think."

"Really?" mused Professor Dumbledore, apparently not expecting an answer.

By the time the hospital wing came into view, Beth had filled the headmaster in on everything she had seen. When Dumbledore opened the door, Beth slipped in behind him and closed the door, trying to be helpful so he wouldn't send her away.

Professor Granger was standing behind the bed which now held the unfortunate man with the missing fingers. She looked both puzzled and agitated, and held her wand quite tightly in one hand.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, Professor, thank goodness!"

Dumbledore stepped over to the man and leaned cautiously over him. "Curious."

"He was just lying there in the Entrance Hall! Beth said he just walked on in."

"Yes, I was informed of the situation on the way here."

"But sir – no one can breach the wards around Hogwarts unless they have the proper clearance!"

"I realise that, Hermione."

Professor Granger calmed down slightly at Dumbledore's firm voice.

"Who is he, I wonder?" Dumbledore mused, his forehead creased as though he was trying to remember something.

"Well, there's this," said Professor Granger, flipping over the man's robe to reveal the silver 'M' embroidered in the corner.

The headmaster's eyes widened. "A Malfoy?"

"Doesn't exactly fit the persona, does he?"

Beth looked at the man again. He certainly didn't look like a Malfoy, from what she'd heard about them. They were all in hiding now, of course, except when they attacked people. She balled her fists. Death Eaters had killed her uncle and cousins. Everyone in the school had been affected by them in one way or another. If word got out that there was one in the castle, there'd be a riot.

"Has he said anything else?" Dumbledore enquired.

"No sir. And I stunned him, just to make sure he wasn't faking. I don't like this, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed. "One day we will live in a world where strangers can be trusted at face value."

"I don't think I'd trust him anyway," said a voice. With surprise, Beth realised it was her own. The two Professors stared at her. "Well, I mean – look at him…" she continued, lamely.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Miss Green," said Professor Granger, eventually.

"Where is Poppy?" Dumbledore asked.

"In her office, getting supplies. We might even recognise him if he's cleaned up a bit. However, I don't think it's wise to wake him up without Professor Snape present."

Dumbledore looked surprised.

Beth suddenly remembered her second duty. "I'll – just go and see if he's back yet," she said quickly, and vacated the hospital wing.

Professor Snape wasn't back. The rest of the students were milling around, making it hard for her to get anywhere, let alone all the way down to the dungeons, but she managed to walk past Professors Sinistra and Sprout just as they were talking.

"Have you seen Severus, Sally?"

"Not, ah, recently, my dear. I believe he stayed in Hogsmeade… on his own business, I'm sure."

"Blast it. I was going to ask him if he could whip up some grogsweed deterrent – the shop was all out again…"

Beth groaned and turned around, resisting the urge to tell Professor Sprout that even if Snape _was _here, the last thing he'd be doing would be stinking up his dungeons with weed killer.

When she re-entered the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was waving her wand over the wild man's body. Dumbledore and Granger looked up at her expectantly. "He's… not here…" she panted. "Didn't… come back… with the others…phew."

"We should wait," said Professor Granger. "Remember last time?"

"I'm never fooled by the same trick twice," Dumbledore pointed out. "But Severus will be displeased if we start without him. I'll see you back here tomorrow morning, Hermione. Leave Severus to me."

Professor Granger looked uncertainly at the man on the bed. The once crisp white sheets beneath him were slowly being stained brown from the water that soaked slowly out of his robes.

"He'll last the night here," Dumbledore reassured him.

"Stunned," Madam Pomfrey confirmed. "Your work, Professor?"

Hermione nodded. Then she noticed Beth, standing by the door. "Don't you have homework to do, Miss Green?"

Beth realised that her books were still sitting in the Entrance Hall, along with _all _her Transfiguration notes. "Rats!"

She fled. The two Professors followed her.

On the bed, the young man dreamed.

oO0Oo

His head hurt. A lot. He cracked open one eye. It didn't help. The place was as dark as the bottom of a well, except someone had forgotten to add the hole at the top. He groaned.

He vaguely remembered being hit on the head… then dragged down a tunnel… He must have passed out somewhere in the middle because he certainly didn't remember coming in here.

_Was I really, really drunk? _

_Could happen. _

No. He hadn't drunk anything because Ron wanted to drink, and he knew that if both of them got pissed then they'd never be able to find their way back up to the castle before… light…

He sat up. It was difficult. Something metallic and strong was holding him to the wall.

_Oh shit._

This was it. He'd been waiting for this for seven years and boom, here it was. It would have been nice to have been conscious for more of it, but you couldn't have everything. At least he still had his glasses, in more-or-less one piece, it was hard to tell.

The dungeon room was small and about as plain as it was possible to get. It was too dark to see much, but he could tell there was no furniture, and there was a door made of thick iron bars placed so close together it'd be difficult to stick a hand through. Everything else was stone.

He examined the chains that held him to the wall, one on either wrist. They too were iron, and snaked around to a thick, heavy ring set into the stone wall on the far right side. They were long enough for him to kneel, but not to stand up, and he could lie down but only with his arms above his head.

There was the sound and the smell of the sea.

oO0Oo

Dear Readers:

I feel you should know that I do have a soundtrack to this story, though I cannot disclose the whole of it just yet because it would give things away. I can, however, give you the songs that represent the story as it progresses. Enjoy!

1. Theme – Flown Away - Lene Marlin


	2. Reflection, Recollection

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**2**

He opened his eyes. Someone was standing above him, but they jerked back as soon as he moved. He blinked. It was light. Really, really light. He blinked again. "Ow."

"Don't move – not until I tell you to," said a voice.

"What?" he croaked. His voice hadn't improved, that was for sure. He blinked. The room damn near _refused _to come into focus, but when it did… he saw Madam Pomfrey. It was the hospital wing.

_I'm here. I made it._

He groaned as he tried to move and his joints shot simultaneously with pain. "W-why?"

"Can you flex your fingers?" asked the woman, eyeing him with her wand pointed between his eyes.

"Yes," he answered, trying. "The ones that are still there, anyway." He hadn't expected Pomfrey to find this funny, and she didn't.

"Good," she said. "I'm going to stun you again now."

"Wait!" he protested. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm completely unarmed, for one thing. And let's face it, I'm not exactly going to be stunning victor if it comes to a fight, yes?"

The wand was lowered. "Who are you?"

He had been warned this might happen, but he hadn't expect it to hurt. "No one, at the moment," he answered, annoyed. "Is it morning?"

"Yes."

He shifted on the bed and looked down at himself. He was still wearing the damp robes. "I was given orders not to move you," said Pomfrey, almost apologetically. "Or wake you up. But it's hard to test motor function when the patient's unconscious."

He looked up at her. It had probably cost her a lot to leave a patient in the state he was currently in.

"Well… would it be all right if I moved myself?"

"What?"

"Well… it's just… I haven't had a wash for quite a long time…"

Pomfrey sniffed, as if to point out that she believed this. "You're not getting up."

"Please? I promise not to… well, whatever it is you're afraid that I'll do."

"Run away?"

He stared at her. "Why would I come all the way here just to run away? Pretty stupid, don't you think?"

She frowned. "I'd be very surprised if you could even stand up. The list of injuries is horrendous."

"Thank you." He knew it was the wrong thing to do by a long shot, but he was going to enjoy his freedom while he had it. He cleared his own mind, and located the nurse's, letting a small drop of compliance slip through into her consciousness without her noticing. _Thank you, my friend, for Legilimancy. _

"Oh very well," said Pomfrey, looking unsure as to why she was agreeing. "The bathroom's over that way. I'll check on you periodically in case you drown."

OOO

"Hello, Harry."

The door closed. He hadn't recognised the Death Eaters that had dragged him up here, two weeks after his arrival, but he recognised this one.

"Lestrange."

She giggled with apparent delight. "You remember me!"

He glared at her, tugging against the tight leather bonds that fastened his hands and feet to the table. "You murdered Sirius."

She put a finger to her lips. "Shh. No nasty accusing stories. I was trying to stun him and he fell over. Poor Siwius…" she sighed in that disgusting mock baby voice. "Dead nearly two years and Hawwy still loves him." He watched as she crossed to a bench and drew aside the cloth that covered the instruments there. Most of them looked sharp.

He laughed. "So you're Voldemort's chief torturer, are you? Doesn't it say something about him that he can't afford anyone better than a mad Azkaban convict to torture his worst enemy?"

She picked up a knife with a handle crafted in the shape of a dragon. It twinkled in the torchlight, making him squint. Two weeks without light, and little food and water. His voice was already hoarse, his stomach begging him to _do _something about the damn situation. _I will_, he told it. _Just watch me._

"Of course it does," said Bellatrix, smiling horribly. She leant over and traced a gentle design on his shirt with the knife.

"It says that there _is _no one better."

OOO

The mirror was lying to him. That was clearly the only explanation. It was a hospital wing mirror, and was probably charmed to make you look horrible so you'd want to stay and not get out of bed before you were ready.

He'd had a bath, okay. It had felt great despite the bumping of raw wounds against the cold stone of the tub and he'd had to apply soap and shampoo with his left hand because the stump where his ring finger had been cut off was still open and infected – although it looked surprisingly clean even before he'd washed. Madam Pomfrey was obviously incapable of not trying to heal someone in her hospital wing, even if they were suspected of… well, whatever he was suspected of.

And okay, he was clean. His skin was a completely different colour, though that could just be that he had proper light to see by for the first time in years. But… still…

He looked like a monster. Even if you ignored the long hair (how _could _it have got so long in three years? It's always been a little crazily fast, but this…) and the beard, which seemed to have moss growing in it, his body looked like it had gone through a meat grinder. Scarred lacerations scored his chest, back, and the backs of his legs. He couldn't see the in-between bits properly, but he could imagine how bad they must look – he grimaced, he didn't _want _to imagine. He could see every single one of his ribs through his skin. There was an almost neat row of double puncture wounds down his inner arm… and there were scars _everywhere._ His hand was maimed and oozing. The gash on his eyebrow was infected – no wonder, he'd got that during his escape… The scars around his eye… it was unbelievable that he could still see through it…

His scar was missing, the one that had been there for a lot longer. At least, it looked like it was. He touched the area, gingerly, and felt the familiar raised line on his forehead.

Well, he could do something about part of it, at least. After a quick search in some of the bottom drawers of the chest under the mirror, he found a razor. He met his own eyes in the mirror. They were not the colour he remembered.

_Right. Let's bring me back. _

oO0Oo

He lay in a broken heap on the floor. He hurt all over, his right arm was still in agony. Somewhere, deep, deep down inside him, he cursed Bellatrix Lestrange with all his might for the hundredth time. But it never worked.

He tried desperately not to move, even when he heard the voices coming down the passageway.

_Oh God, please don't be coming for me…_

He could see the passing of the flame torch from behind his closed eyelids, almost feel the scrap of warmth on his skin. They walked past him. He felt his chest relax in relief, and it hurt. He could hear the frightened whimpers of the other prisoners around him. A barred gate slid open.

"Let me go!"

Someone new, then. A neighbour, by the sounds of it.

"You can't leave me down here!"

The voice was very familiar, but no so much that he could match a name to a face. After two years he wasn't even sure he'd recognise Hagrid's rough baritone if it called out to him.

The gate slammed shut. He opened his eyes – he wasn't far from the spot in the wall where there was a small chink in the stonework. He and Mr. Jenson had talked through that hole when he'd been there… until they'd taken him away and he hadn't come back.

He used his left arm to help him crawl over to the chink. "Hey," he whispered. His own voice surprised him. How long had he been here now? A year? Two? Two years of saying nothing but screams. And talking to Mr. Jenson. That seemed so long ago.

Something moved on the other side of the wall. "Over here," he croaked. He heard the prisoner move over to him. "You okay?" he asked.

"No I'm not," the voice snapped. "Who the hell are you?"

"I live here."

"Oh, well, good for you. You can stay here, then. I'm planning on getting the hell out as soon as possible."

He laughed. It hurt his throat, but there was nothing he could do now that didn't hurt. "I thought that, once," he said. "There's only one way out of here."

"What? What is it?" asked the voice.

"Death."

The other prisoner breathed out in exasperation. He heard him move as if he was settling against the wall. "What good are you, old man?"

"Excuse me? I'm eighteen. Well. Possibly nineteen. Old yourself."

A pause.

"How long have you been here?" asked the voice.

"No idea. But coming up on a couple years, I think.You?"

"Today? All of ten minutes. They'll let me out before long." The voice sounded less than sure.

"No one gets let out of here."

"Will you stop with the 'we're in here forever' nonsense? There's always a way out."

The fly of recognition that had been buzzing around his brain suddenly darted through one ear and hit home. "_Malfoy?_"

Another pause. "You know me?"

"What the hellare _you_ doing –" a bout of coughing overcame him. His lungs bounced against his splintered ribs and he doubled up in pain. They knew how to make the torture last, here. You didn't have to be in the room, with the instruments. After a while your own body would start punishing you.

"Who _are _you?"

"Don't be an ass," he spluttered through the coughing. "It's me, Harry."

"_Potter?_ What the hell are you – you're dead!"

He laughed. Then he regretted it. "Am I? I didn't notice."

"You… what?"

"Do I sound dead to you?"

Another pause. "Can you see through this hole?" Malfoy asked.

"The stone's two foot thick."

"So?"

"So no. Besides, you probably wouldn't recognise me."

"I bet you look disgusting."

"Overgrown, few missing fingers, not too bad. It could be worse. I count myself extremely lucky to have both eyes, for example."

"They cut off your _fingers_?"

"Just one. Long time ago."

"That's disgusting, Potter."

"Call me Harry."

"What? _Why?_"

Harry leaned back against the wall, not even bothering to try and understand why the sound of this voice was so comforting to him. Maybe because it was the only one he'd heard in months that hadn't belonged to someone who was torturing him.

"Because no one else here does."

OOO

4. Beth's Theme – I'll Try – Jonatha Brooke


	3. Transformation

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**3**

**Hogwarts, 2002**

Beth sat in the Gryffindor common room and made a pathetic attempt at finishing her homework. The fifth firework of the hour went off with a bang. A few people screamed in shock or delight.

It was seven o'clock in the morning and the last thing she was concentrating on was Transfiguration. She couldn't stop thinking about the strange man from yesterday, and whether Professor Granger and the Headmaster were down there talking to him, right now. Professor Granger had asked her to stay after Transfiguration, and then asked her not to tell anyone about what had happened.

As if she would tell! The man was _her _secret, and she wanted to know what was happening. Was he a Death Eater? Had they arrested him?

She couldn't help feeling that something was off about the whole situation. Everyone in the school, even all the students, had to be imprinted with a special spell before they could enter the grounds. It was said that this included all the secret tunnels that led out of the school. How could the man get in unless he had the clearance, like Professor Granger had said? He certainly wasn't a student, and everyone had the spell taken off when they left Hogwarts.

Eventually she stuffed her things back in her bag and ran up the stairs to the dormitory. The other girls were sitting around, braiding each other's hair, of all things.

Emily Lareston looked up at her in surprise. "Did you just _run _up those stairs, Green?"

"Yes actually," Beth snapped.

"There's no need to be touchy," sniffed Emily, returning her attention to Ally Houser's plait. "You could do with the exercise, dear."

Beth's face reddened. "What are you doing, anyway?" she shot back. "You're _thirteen_, you realise. You're acting like ten-year-olds at a sleepover." The four girls replied with the horrible up-and-down stare, which after three years they'd all perfected.

Beth threw her bag down on her bed and stormed out. Her dorm-mates – no, her house-mates – no, her entire year level were such complete _idiots. _The girls were all ditzy and disgusting and all of their names ended in the same syllable. Three of the boys were complete terrors and would probably end up in jail before they even left school. Another one was so pathetic that Beth had no idea how he'd got into Gryffindor in the first place.

And the other one… was sitting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hi, Beth."

Beth walked right past him. He stood up and grabbed her arm. "Leave me alone, Quin," she snapped.

"I just wanted to see if you were all right," he said, taken aback. She glared at him. He had red hair and freckles, and the stupidest name of the lot. He was okay, most of the time. He was all right to talk to during class, when they were paired up in Potions… but he wasn't her _friend_. He usually hung around with the Ravenclaw boys, who seemed to like him despite him being just as smart as them, which would normally irritate your average Ravenclaw with a terrible ferocity.

"Did Emily say something horrible?" he asked her.

Beth was aware of her expression changing from anger to surprise. She might have stopped right there if he hadn't pointed at her and said, "I could tell by your face."

She ripped her arm out of his grip. "You're the worst idiot of them all, Quinton Weasley," she hissed. She ran, leaving the portrait swinging on its hinges

"Hey," said a voice from behind Quin. "What's with you and Green?"

Quin looked behind him to see his dorm-mate Dom Hinch looking at him. "What? Nothing."

Dom shook his head. "She got bigger over the summer. I think it made her meaner. Best leave her alone, Weasley, or she'll curse your head off."

"Give it a rest, Hinch. She's all right," said Quin, watching the portrait hole finally swing closed.

"Oh yeah? See anything happening with you two?"

"Don't be a prat."

OOO

Beth stopped when she reached the bottom of the tower, panting. The second run of the day. Her legs had been aching when she'd woken up, from all the rushing around she'd done yesterday. _That's it_, she thought. _No more running. Ever. _

She walked to the hospital wing, ignoring the glances of the passing teachers who were obviously wondering what a student was doing out of their common room so early. She started to make up a story in her mind, in case someone asked her.

_Yes, Professor, I'm just on my way to the hospital wing because that idiot Lareston cursed her nose off like Madam Pomfrey is always warning us not to and she's too embarrassed to come down herself… _

This kept her so amused that she was surprised when she found herself at the door of the Hospital Wing.

When she put her ear to it she could hear talking. Nothing remarkable, just Madam Pomfrey telling someone to rest for the moment, and maybe they'd better stay the night. She waited until the sound stopped, and she estimated the point when Madam Pomfrey must have gone into her office. Then she went in.

Rupert Gill, the Gryffindor Seeker, was lying on one of the beds dressed in hospital pyjamas, his filthy Quidditch robes slung over a chair. He was cradling his right arm with his left hand. He was two years above Beth and very popular. Despite all this, Beth found she rather liked him.

"What happened?" she asked.

Rupert nudged his arm in her direction. "Went slam bang into a goal post to avoid a Bludger." He winced. "Maybe I would have preferred the Bludger."

"Bad luck," said Beth, looking around. Apart from Rupert, all the other beds were empty. The one where Professor Granger had put the wild man was equally empty, and bedecked with fresh sheets and pillows. She recognised the door to Madam Pomfrey's office, and the one to the store cupboard. But at the far end there was now a door that she'd never noticed before. She made her way towards it. "I expect Madam Pomfrey can fix it."

"Yeah, she fixed the bone, she just wants… hey, I don't think we're allowed in there."

Beth put one hand on the doorknob. "It's okay," she said to Rupert. "I'm allowed." She went in, closing the door softly behind her.

A man was there, facing away from her, pulling a hospital shirt over his head to match the trousers he already wore. The disgusting Malfoy robes from last night were lying in a heap on the floor.

Shirt on, the man turned to look at her. "Should you be here?" he asked.

oO0Oo

"What do you mean you can't do it?"

He tried to bang his head against the wall but he was too tired. "I _can't_, all right? I studied with Snape for nearly a year and it came to nothing, then I did lessons with Dumbledore for a while… I'm better than I was when I started, but against Voldemort? I'm like a bloody pack of cards."

From the other side of the wall, Draco hissed in pain. He wasn't in quite as bad shape as Harry had been after three months, but from what Harry saw of him whenever they hauled the other man past his cell, his body was starting to give up under the strain of continuing. Dark red-brown streaks in his bedraggled blonde hair stood out like phoenix feathers, his clothes little more than tatters.

Harry hadn't asked Draco what he had done to be there. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. But, though it pained him to admit it, life seemed more bearable now that there was someone to talk to. When they were actually talking, anyway. What they were doing now was like a one-sided argument.

"Trust you, Potter. You've had two of the most accomplished Occlumency teachers in the _world_ tutoring you, and you're still hopeless at it?"

"Give it a rest."

"Well, it's good to know you're hopeless at something, anyway."

"Well, if you're so clever, you teach me."

"Fine."

Harry paused. "Really? You know Occlumency?"

"Well, I'm better at Legilimency, to tell you the truth."

"Hah. You would be."

"Harry, I'm serious. It'll be hard, what with neither of us being in… ideal physical shape, but do you want to be able to protect yourself or not?"

He thought about this. There'd be very little opportunity to defend himself ever again, he considered. _Not now Voldemort has got all he can get from me_. "Why are you offering to help me exactly?"

Draco sighed. "Whose side do you think I'm on?"

"Hah. I've thought about that. You're on your own side, aren't you?"

"Correct. I protect my own interests. And right now, the one thing I've got going for me is that the only person in this place who stands a chance of getting out is in the cell next door, and might perhaps see his way to helping me out once he manages it."

"What makes you think I have a chance of getting out?"

"Because you're _you_, Potter. You get out of everything. So, let's begin."

oO0Oo

**Hogwarts, 2002**

Beth stared. The man was transformed. He was clean, not to mention clean-shaven, and those visible wounds which were not healed, had been dressed. His hair, while still looking as though it would take several washes and cuts to get it to look normal, was tied back with a piece of string.

He was as skinny as a skeleton, except with the hair and the pyjamas he was more like a scarecrow. Without the beard, the white scars around his eye were even more obvious, but so were the intense dark-grey eyes that stared at her as she stood, transfixed. She found she couldn't look at them for too long.

She swallowed. "You… look different."

He squinted. "Do I know you?" he asked. His voice was still as hoarse and painful-sounding as it had been when he had spoken to her yesterday.

"Beth Green," she reminded him. "I was in the Entrance Hall, yesterday."

Recognition sparked in the eyes. "Yes," he said, leaning against a bedpost. Beth noticed for the first time that the room in which they stood was a small, private hospital bedroom. "I remember. Sort of. You ran away, didn't you?"

Beth folded her arms, indignant. "To get help!"

"Oh. Sorry." Beth waited, aware that she was still, well, staring. "What?" he asked, eventually.

"Um… are you evil?"

He smiled. "I don't think so. Are you?"

"No!"

"Then if you think I'm evil, why are you talking to me?"

Beth was about to say 'I don't know', but then she thought better of it. "To see if you're evil or not," she said finally. "Are you still hurting?"

The man sat down in a chair with a groan. "There's the answer to that," he growled.

"Well… you look much better than you did yesterday," she said, with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, I think," he said. "Er… who else saw me? Yesterday, I mean."

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor Granger and Madam Pomfrey."

"Whoa, wait – _Granger_? Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. You thought I was her, remember?"

He squinted at her again. She decided she really didn't like being, well _looked at _so thoroughly. It was unnerving. "You do look like her," he said eventually. "I'm sorry. I must have been really delirious."

Beth said "Yes…" before she could stop herself. "But you seem okay now," she added quickly.

He nodded. "I was on a Restorative Potion," he told her. "Feels great for the first few hours, but when it wears off it brings you down twice as low as you were before. Also extremely additive, like Dreamless Sleep, but it's out of my system now, so…" he stopped suddenly. "Don't go spreading that around, please. I'll get in trouble for educating second years about wizarding drugs."

"I'm in third year," she corrected him.

"Really."

"You're pretty lucky you showed up on a Hogsmeade day," said Beth, attempting to fill the silence. "There'd have been loads of people around otherwise. The place is always really empty on Hogsmeade weekends."

"Lucky for me you were there, then," said the man, with a smile.

Suddenly Beth heard voices from behind the door. One look at the man told her that he heard them too – and she hadn't even got a chance to tell him about Professor Snape… "Now I'm for it!" she squeaked.

The man, to her great surprise, jerked a thumb towards the wardrobe.

OOO

Hermione sat in the big armchair in her room, cradling a cup of cold tea in her hands.

_Not again._

Harry was dead. He had died almost exactly four years ago, the day after Ron's birthday. It was the worst day of her life, and Ron's, and even Dumbledore had shed tears at the funeral. There had been a funeral, although there was no body to bury.

There were witnesses, of course. She was one of them. Harry's body was burnt to ashes and with him went all the hopes and dreams of the wizarding world.

And yet, not all. Perhaps it was to do with the fact that there _had _been no body to bury, that they'd carried an empty coffin to the grave and shed tears over that which they could no longer see… but somehow, some of them still hoped that maybe somehow, in the way that Harry so often achieved the impossible, he had survived.

_Maybe he's still alive._

Ron hadn't taken it in, not really, despite being there when it happened. Ginny hadn't. Luna kept insisting that it was all a trick, which made it all the more painful for those that _did _believe it, and poor Luna was now even more lonely at twenty-one than she had been at fourteen.

And Hermione? She'd _seen _it… and she'd still believed there was a chance… that maybe someday, he would come back. Somehow.

And he had. He'd turned up outside Hogwarts' gates the July after next, almost two years and four months after his death, the month after Ginny and Luna had left school. Hermione and Ron were there as soon as they got word. He looked bedraggled and ill, and he walked with a limp. But the eyes and scar were the same, and Hermione had cried on his shoulder and Ron had hugged him for what seemed like an hour. He'd seemed a little different, but of course he would be, after all he had been through.

Snape wasn't there. He was out of town somewhere, on one of his many trips. By the time someone had warned him that something was wrong at Hogwarts, it was too late.

When he at Hogwarts, a week after Harry's spectacular arrival, Professor Flitwick was already dead. Snape caught up to the impostor in one of Hogwarts' upper classrooms, and stunned him. After they removed the many layers of charms and concealments that had fooled even Dumbledore, 'Harry' was revealed to be Marcus Flint.

"His mind was open," Hermione remembered Dumbledore telling Snape, quietly, as she and Ron stood staring at what they had believed to be their friend. "It _was_ Harry."

"Maybe it nearly was," said Snape. "Voldemort must have taken all of Potter's thoughts and memories and transferred them to Flint. What you saw in him was the last remains of Harry Potter."

Flint died that night. They decided there must have been a suicide element to his mission, which, unless it had been the murder of Professor Flitwick, had failed.

And that was the end of the Death Eater charade for Professor Severus Snape. Unfortunately, he hadn't been the only one around when he'd foiled whatever plan Voldemort had for Hogwarts, and word had spread among the students whose parents had Dark sympathies. He hadn't left the castle for months, under Dumbledore's orders, and even now he rarely went outside Hogsmeade.

But most of all, the incident had shattered any last hopes that anyone had for Harry's return. People went on with their lives, and the Order of the Pheonix started frantically searching for ways they could defeat Voldemort without the child spoken of in the Prophecy. Hermione, much to her surprise, had been offered Professor Flitwick's position at Hogwarts, despite still having three more months to complete her teaching course. She took the exams early and passed, with only ninety-seven percent.

Another year and more had passed, with little incident. Ron was two years into training for the Magical Law Enforcement, which, he had discovered to his delight, did not require a Potions prerequisite, or even particularly high NEWTs in anything except Defence Against the Dark Arts.

No one had done well on their NEWTs that year, except some of the Slytherins. Even Hermione had found herself daydreaming during the Arithmancy final. Reliving Harry's death…

And now here it was again. The situation was too horribly familiar. A stranger arrives at Hogwarts. Who would he claim to be?

She shook her head, and glanced up at the clock. She jumped up suddenly when she realised she was late, spilling cold tea all down her robe. She cleaned it up with her wand and ran out of her room and down the corridor.

_After all_, she thought as she ran. _The poor man hasn't even said anything yet._

She met Dumbledore and Snape outside the hospital wing. Snape, who she was told had protested loudly to her appointment as Charms Professor, sneered as she panted, leaning against the wall for support.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Granger?" he drawled.

"Fine, thank you Severus," she replied, sweetly. _Stop treating me like a first year, you overgrown old bat…_

"Well, here we are," said Dumbledore.

"Thank you for waiting this time, by the way," Snape sneered as Dumbledore opened the door.

"Hermione's idea, actually," Dumbledore admitted, with a wink in her direction. Snape said nothing.

One of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was watching them interestedly from one of the beds.

"Good morning, Mr. Gill!" said Dumbledore cheerfully. "Bludger, was it?"

"Goal post, sir!" announced Rupert, with a left-handed salute. Hermione looked at the boy who had replaced Harry as Seeker in his second year. Of course, he would have done that anyway because Harry would have left school… but with all the thoughts and memories that had gone rampaging through her mind that morning, it made her sad to see him.

"Very good, very good," said Dumbledore, as Madam Pomfrey bustled in from her office. "Ah, Poppy, how is our other patient?"

"Thank goodness you're here!" exclaimed the nurse, hurrying over.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, fearing the worst, as they all went to meet her out of Rupert's hearing range.

"Well… I woke him up, Headmaster, I mean, you can hardly expect me to sit back and watch a patient who may or may not have degenerative neural damage, so I _had_to test him. And then, well, he insisted on getting washed, which believe me, wasn't such a bad idea…"

"You let him move around?" Snape growled.

Pomfrey put her hands defiantly on her hips. "Next time you're in here with an injury list the length of my arm, Severus Snape, I'll make you stay filthy and see how you like it."

"Injured how?" Hermione asked. "I saw the fingers and his head, but apart from that he just looked wet."

The older witch crossed her arms and recited. "The patient has various scars from the torso to the knees, back and front, some resembling whip-marks, others which look to have been made by a knife, or other sharp implement. There is a burn mark down the left side, and a double row of small puncture wounds down the inside of the right arm. They resemble Muggle injection wounds, but are too wide to have been made by a needle.

"I healed an infected cut over the right eyebrow which carried traces of rusted iron. There is evidence of a fractured tibia which healed badly, and various other old breakages are evident. There is a large area of scar tissue around the right eye, however, the eye itself seems undamaged. Finally, the fifth and fourth fingers of the left hand are missing, the fifth having been removed quite some time ago and the fourth quite recently, and inexpertly."

Hermione winced.

"There are also traces of a Restorative in his system," Madam Pomfrey continued. "It could explain his collapse yesterday, although I'd be more certain if I blamed his injuries for that…"

"It would explain why he's suddenly up and about, if the after-effects have passed," said Snape. "What kind of Restorative?"

"I don't know. But apart from that, he looks… well, better," Pomfrey admitted. "He's severely starved, but I thought it best not to feed him until you spoke to him, Professor," she addressed Dumbledore. "If he's trustworthy, I suggest you make him get a haircut."

"Thank you Poppy," said Dumbledore, grimly. "Shall we?"

Hermione nodded, Snape just looked sour. Dumbledore knocked on the door.

OOO


	4. Crash and Burn

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**4**

**Hogwarts, 2002**

Dumbledore knocked on the door.

There was no answer. It was somewhat of an anticlimax.

"What are you knocking for?" Snape demanded, pushing his greasy black hair out of his eyes with Potion-stained fingers. He reached forward and pushed the door open onto the private ward.

The latest excitement was in bed with his eyes closed. He was lying on his back with his head lolling to one side, the duvet up to his chest with his arms resting on top, one on each side of his body. The maimed hand rested on his stomach.

Hermione took a few steps closer as the two men entered behind her and closed the door. "He looks peaceful," she said, observing the man's face. The scar tissue around the eye was vivid now that the skin around it was no longer dark with dirt and grime. Looking around she saw Snape examining the robe with the Malfoy emblem.

"Looks genuine," he sniffed. "Ruined, but definitely the Malfoy crest."

"Curious," said Dumbledore, lowering himself into a chair. He seemed content to observe the newcomer from a distance.

"Do you think he's a Death Eater, Professor?" Hermione asked him.

"I don't know," replied the old Headmaster. "If he was, why should he come to Hogwarts in this way? How would he know you, and on first name terms? How would he pass the security wards?" He shook his head. "It seems unlikely. But then, I have been wrong before."

Hermione sighed. Dumbledore seemed now to be little more than a shadow of his former cheerful self – even before Harry's death, he had missed the attack on Hogwarts at the end of her sixth year. That incident had given incentive to the new wards around Hogwarts that could only be passed by anyone carrying the imprint that was spelled onto all first years before they crossed the lake, and removed from all graduating seventh years. Many parents and some members of the school board protested, but Dumbledore made it clear to everyone that it would be far more dangerous _not _to have the wards. It was clear to many that Dumbledore was now untrustworthy of his own judgement, and of his ability to protect Hogwarts.

She didn't need reminding of those events. She'd been thinking about them more than enough for one day.

She leant over the sleeping man slightly. His right arm was palm upwards on the duvet, and she could see now the rows of large pockmarks on his inner arm beneath the short sleeve of his hospital pyjama shirt.

Pomfrey was right – they were too big to be needles… but too small to be made by a knife… it looked almost as if someone had methodically spiked him with a two-pronged fork…

Snape saw what she was looking at and walked around the other side of the bed to see for himself.

"What is it, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"Snake bites," said the Potions Master grimly.

"_Snake _bites?" Hermione repeated, incredulously. "How could you get bitten so many times in the same place? Unless you stuck your arm in a snake pit, for some reason…?"

Snape shook his head, apparently too genuinely interested to be sarcastic. Hermione noted the rarity of that particular scenario.

"Some of these wounds are older than others," he observed. "It looks like… well, it used to be a form of wizarding torture some centuries ago – the snake bites the victim – quite painful depending on the breed of snake – then the antidote would be administered at the last critical moment."

When Hermione looked closely, some of the marks seemed to be further apart than others. Two different snakes, perhaps? "Sounds risky," she said.

"It was," agreed Snape, reverting to his old slimy self again as he straightened up. "And of course the snakes had to be under control – they have to release just the right amount of venom to stop the victim dying too quickly. It was used primarily in the fifteen hundreds."

"The Century of the Parseltongues," Dumbledore nodded.

"There's only one known Parseltongue in the world," Snape continued. "So it's fair to say we know who has revived it."

Hermione looked back up at the man's face – the skin stretched thinly over the skull and the white scars around the eye. "He _is_ a victim then," she said. Her hand drifted up of its own accord and softly brushed his shoulder.

oO0Oo

He lay there, listening. He couldn't have opened his eyes if he wanted to; that was _Hermione's_ voice. A little older, a little bolder – especially to Professor Snape! – but it was her. The sheer _realness_ of her voice overcame him, and he knew that if he looked at her he would be blinded.

Snape was there, and Dumbledore. Good old Dumbledore.

But they didn't recognise him. Because he was dead, right? Pomfrey hadn't recognised him even when he'd spoken to her. No one looking at him now saw him, and knew him.

_They can't see my scar_, he realised. _Bloody hell, Draco._

He listened as they talking about the bites on his arm. He smiled at Snape's conclusion. _He's probably read every book on torture there is_, he thought. _Maybe he could even give darling Bella a few tips. _

Caught up in this daydream, he didn't register Hermione's closeness until she spoke again. _He is a victim, then._

"_We're all victims. Sooner or later, we're all hurt by someone. The only thing we can do is to try not to show that we care."_

Mr. Jenson had said that, a long time ago.

She touched his arm.

The contact was like lightning electricity spreading through his entire aching body in a millisecond. His hand shot upward to catch Hermione's arm at the same time his eyes snapped open. The sudden reflex caught everyone, including him, by surprise – but three wands were on him before he could blink.

Slowly, he released his grip on Hermione's arm, but he was unable to tear away his eyes from her face, slightly flushed from her fright. Her bushy brown hair was tied back neatly, although springs of it was starting to escape – _no wonder I mistook Beth… but no, she's the same. She's still Hermione._

"I'm sorry," he croaked. "You scared me."

oO0Oo

"And one other thing, _why_ does this glass never get empty, no matter how much I dr…drink? That's bloody fant-tas-tastic magic, that…"

"Stop it," Harry chided Dean Thomas as he filled up Ron's glass yet again when the redheaded eighteen-year-old became suddenly very interested in his own hand.

Dean grinned at him. "Does a chap good to get pissed every now and again – especially on his birthday, right?" He clapped Ron on the back. "Or the day after his birthday, anyway."

"I wouldn't know," said Harry, sipping his Butterbeer. The knowledge that he was the only person in the _Three Broomsticks_ that wasn't quite drunk was somewhat uncomfortable.

"Nex' birthday, m…mate," slurred Ron, pointing at Harry in a weird wavy motion. "We're gonna ta… take you out 'n' get you drinksh. Lotsa lotsa drinksh…." he trailed off, taking a minute to regain his thought pattern. "No Dursleysh this sum… summer, right?"

"Nope," said Harry, downing the rest of his bottle with a grimace. That was a sore subject. Less than three months until school ended forever and he still had no idea where he was going to go when he got off the train at King's Cross. He'd been waiting for Dumbledore to make a suggestion… but Ron solved the problem for him immediately.

"Right," he continued "You're comin' to th' Burrow wiv us!"

Harry wished his friend were making this offer while sober… it would probably be more valid. "Really?" he asked Ron, carefully. "I can really stay with you?"

"Of course you can," said a cheerful voice from behind him. Harry swivelled around on the bench. Ginny was leaning on the back of the booth. He could have kissed her.

"Thanks," he grinned.

"I bring a message from Hermione," she said, running a freckled hand through her hair. "She wants to talk to you about something and she said there's no way she's coming in here."

Harry looked around. Their small Hogsmeade weekend guys' birthday party seemed to have evolved into a gathering involving every boy in Hogwarts regardless of age, house or liquor-holding ability. Madam Rosmerta looked about ready to collapse.

"Okay," he said, glad of the chance to get some air. "See you later, Ron." He stood and walked out the back door with Ginny.

Behind him, Ron and Dean looked at each other in inebriated confusion. "Who wash he talking to?" Ron asked.

OOO

Hermione came out of the pet supply shop with a new brush for Crookshanks and two packets of owl treats that Harry and Ron had asked to her to buy.

Well, she'd done all her errands, and even some that she hadn't known she had to do until she did them. Her arms were full of things that she knew she hadn't really needed to buy.

There was no more putting it off now. She'd already told Ginny to try and take as many people as she could back to the school. Turning towards the doorway of the _Three Broomsticks _she took a deep breath and walked slowly forward. She could already hear the raucous laughter.

When she walked in, she spotted Ron instantly because he was standing on a table, singing. It sounded like a cat in a bucket of cold water, and she ought to know. She looked around for Harry, who had _promised _her he wouldn't drink.

"_I'll be peacekeeper,"_ he had said with a grin._ "I'm not reliving the experience of the Quidditch victory party last year, thanks. There's enough embarrassment in my life."_

She couldn't see him, though. She tried searching the crowds for Ernie MacMillan, but the Head Boy was also nowhere to be seen. _Great_, thought Hermione. _I'm in the land of the perpetually immature. _Sighing, she made her way over to Ron and pulled him down off the table with some difficulty. She screwed up her face at the smell of his breath.

"Hermimimimione!" Ron exclaimed. "Watchoo doin' 'ere?"

"Saving you from a lifetime of embarrassment," said Hermione, taking Harry's vacated seat. "It's getting dark, all right? I'm telling everyone to go home. You're supposed to help me, as a Prefect."

"Psh, Head Girl," Ron sniffed. "You were more… morer… fun before…"

"Thank you," said Hermione, ignoring him. The poor boy was _such _a lightweight. "Have you seen Harry? Or Ernie?"

"Ernie didn' come!" announced Dean Thomas, who was sitting at the same table, listening in. "Stayed back at school wiv M…Malfoy! Poor bastard!"

Hermione vaguely recalled something about Malfoy having committed a vandalism-related crime and being banned from all further Hogsmeade visits until April. "All right, where's Harry?"

"He wen' away," sighed Ron. "Outside. Talkin' to himself like a big prat."

Hermione's blood froze almost solid in a split second. "When? Ron, _when_ did this happen?"

"Wha'? I dunno…"

Nearly coming apart with frustration, Hermione whipped out her wand and shouted "Sobrius!"

Ron shook his head hard. "Um, ow!" He protested. "What did you do that for?"

"You can look forward to a hangover that's three times worse tomorrow," Hermione snapped. "Ron, _when did Harry leave_?"

Ron met her eyes, suddenly looking worried. "Er, maybe half an hour ago?" he paled. "Oh Merlin – he never came back…"

"He's in trouble," Hermione summarised. "Get your wand – hurry up! Which way did he go?"

"Out the back door," said Ron, already on his feet and running. She followed on his heels, ignoring Dean's yells from behind them. "Ron – wheryagoin'? We haven' even started!"

The alley outside was completely empty. Ron swore. "Now what?"

Suddenly they heard a scream, from the Honeydukes direction of the alley. "I'd say we run in that direction," said Hermione, raising her wand once more and tearing up the alley.

Death Eaters were in the square. They came all at once like a giant swarm of bees, picking off everyone in sight with curses. Hermione was suddenly very glad that most of the Hogwarts students were in the _Three Broomsticks_. Adults were coming out of their shops armed with wands to fight, and the level of screams grew until Hermione's ears rang with it. She and Ron were instantly back-to-back, firing off curses left and right at anyone in a mask.

"Where are the teachers?" Ron yelled, seconds before Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Hagrid came hurtling out of the alley opposite them.

"HAGRID!" screamed Hermione, and the half-giant started wading his way through the battle towards them. "NO!" she shouted. "OVER THERE!"

She pointed with her wand towards the owner of the pet shop, who was trying to protect his wife and four children from five advancing Death Eaters. Hagrid roared and set upon the masked men with his fists, howling when one of them hit him in the side with what looked like the Cruciatus Curse. It couldn't have held him down for long, but the two seventh years could no longer concentrate on fights other than their own.

Some of the students in the pub and the other shops started to emerge, alerted by all the noise. The older ones grabbed their wands and joined the fray, while fifth years and under ran back inside and barricaded the doors under the supervision of the fifth year Prefects. It was Hogwarts battle strategy, and they all knew what to do.

That didn't stop Hermione from being so terrified she felt like she might faint, didn't stop her wand from nearly slipping out of her cold, sweaty palm. The curses flew from her mouth like clockwork, she felt like she had almost no control over what she was saying as she fought to retain some semblance of calm.

The students were all using the Floo Network to get to Honeydukes from wherever they were hiding now, and running up the not-so-secret-anymore passage from the cellar of the sweet shop. _Hogsmeade Escape Route_, Hermione thought. _And all the stupid third years thought we wouldn't have to use it. _She hoped they would think to bring along anyone else who was hiding inside, too. Maybe, by now, they were the only ones still in the town….

She let her concentration lapse for a split second, and a curse got through. She gasped and doubled up as she felt her insides rolling around inside her. "HERMIONE!" Ron shouted to her over the mêlée. "STAND UP!"

"I… can't…" she gasped. Ron seemed to struggle for a minute in a moment of indecision. Then he turned around, grabbed her around the waist and dragged her towards where the teachers and other students were gathering.

"Spread out!" McGonagall was shouting. "Don't let them herd us into a clump!"

_Oh my God, oh my God,_ thought Hermione desperately as Ron pulled her passed the line of students to where other injured people were being tended to by Professor Sprout. _We're not going to get out of this… they just keep coming…_

She threw up, violently, relying fully on Ron to keep her upright as her legs went to jelly beneath her. "I think that's all," she gasped, as Ron tried to drag her further towards the Herbology Professor. "Vomiting curse. _No, _Ron. Other people need it more."

Ron stopped trying to pull her, but held her sturdily by the shoulders and looked into her eyes... "Hermione… listen… if we don't get out of this…"

"You shut up, Ron Weasley!" Hermione shouted, if only so she could be heard above the uproar. "Don't even say it!" And with that, she threw herself back into the fight. Ron followed her, cursing.

But suddenly, before Hermione could even raise her wand to attack, the Death Eaters stopped fighting. They retreated militarily to the front step of Zonko's. The students started to follow them, excited by the impossible idea that they might be winning, but McGonagall called them back. "Regroup!" she cried, emitting sparks from her wand. Their small force gathered around her.

Soon there were two groups of people in the square – the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade continuum in front of Honeydukes, and the Death Eaters, in front of Zonko's.

It appeared to be a standoff.

Hermione kept her eyes on McGonagall, whom even the Hogsmeade residents were following without question. She opened her mouth to issue some kind of order –

But the door of Zonko's opened before she could speak.

It was Voldemort.

Hermione was _sure _it was. He glided out of the door like an enormous vulture, red eyes burning in their sockets, a dreadful smile spread across his thin lips. Hermione stood rooted to the spot with horror. Some of the Hogsmeade residents cut their losses and Disapparated.

"Wands!" shouted McGonagall. The Hogwarts students responded instantly to the commanding tone they had learned not to disobey, and raised their wands. The Hogsmeade wizards and witches followed seconds after.

_This is stupid, _Hermione thought desperately. _We're outnumbered – that's _Voldemort_…_

But neither side seemed to be advancing, despite the Death Eaters' obvious advantage. Instead, Voldemort beckoned inside the shop, and someone, or something, stepped out of the shadows within.

Hermione's heart, which had been beating fervently in her throat up until then, dropped into her stomach. It was Peter Pettigrew, and he was holding the limp body of Harry in his arms.

She glanced at Ron. His wand arm was shaking.

"Lower them," McGonagall called out, suddenly sounding calm. "All of you."

Voldemort laughed. "Wisely done, Minerva."

"What do you want, Tom?" McGonagall asked, moving to the very head of the group, putting herself willingly in the line of fire. "What do you want for Harry's life?"

The laugh was longer and colder this time. It had a Dementor's effect on Hermione, but even as her blood ran cold she couldn't take her eyes off Harry. He was covered in blood and his glasses were askew… he looked broken.

"Can't you see, Minerva?" Voldemort grinned. "What I want – _is _his life."

"Ron, we've got to _do _something," Hermione whispered.

"We can't. Do you think any of us would stand a chance against him?"

_No_, thought Hermione. _But Harry does… _

"Harry, wake up! HARRY!" she screamed, drawing the attention of the entire square to herself, but she didn't care, not if it worked.

Harry stirred. She held her breath as he raised his head to look at her.

"Yes," she whispered. "Come _on_ Harry… do something…"

He met her eyes with his own, helpless green ones. He mouthed her name, and she felt tears come to her eyes… and then, without warning, Pettigrew used his silver-coloured hand to hit Harry hard on the back of the head. He crumpled.

"No!" she screamed.

Voldemort laughed again. Hermione put her hands to her ears as it seemed to fill her head and spread through her body… The creature touched his wand to Harry's broken form on the ground. It caught fire instantly.

"NO!" Ron ran forward, only to be restrained by his schoolmates. Hermione only realised that she too had tried to run when she felt the pet shop owner grab her arms.

"LET ME GO!" She struggled as hard as she could, but it was no use… "HARRY!"

No one could hold Hagrid back. He roared again and threw himself forward – only to be felled by twelve simultaneous stunning curses from the Death Eaters surrounding the steps of the shop.

He wasn't screaming. Somehow that made it worse – he couldn't _do _anything to save himself, no one could do anything to save him, he was just lying there, burning alive…

"HARRY! NO!"

Tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled against the pet shop owner. "Don't do it, miss!" he shouted in her ear. "It's not worth it!"

How _dare _he say Harry wasn't worth it? Hermione brought her hand back and pointed her wand under her arm, catching the man in the stomach with a Petrificus jinx. Free at last, she hurtled forward into the awaiting Death Eaters. McGonagall caught her before she could get any further, and all she could do was watch Harry's skin melt from his bones, the smell of burning flesh was thick in the air, _oh God, oh God, oh God – HARRY!_

But it wasn't Harry anymore. It was a dead body in flames.

Ron was swearing his head off somewhere behind her, and she could hear the tears in his voice too.

Harry was gone.

Voldemort stood above the burning body and laughed. As he raised his arms to the heavens in triumph, all the Death Eaters around him Disapparated. Finally, Voldemort bowed and also disappeared, taking Harry's blackened body with him.

Hermione found herself running forward with no restraints. McGonagall had let her go. She stopped running, feet away from the place where her best friend had just died.

Ron was standing behind her, she could feel him. She knelt, and gently touched the empty stone step. "Where… where is he?"

Ron's arms wound around her waist, trying to pull her away. "No," she whispered. "No, no, NO!"

The tears came from somewhere deep inside her that she'd never before accessed. She collapsed on the stone, beating at it with her bare hands as if that could somehow bring him back. "No…"

Suddenly Ron had his arms around her. She buried her face in his shirt, sobbing. He held her tightly, and they sat there together for what seemed like a lifetime, mourning for what they had lost, and could never be returned.

oO0Oo

2. Harry 17 – Explain it to Me – Liz Phair


	5. The Sound of Death

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**5**

**Hogwarts, 2002**

"I'm sorry. You scared me."

He realised how stupid and ridiculous that sounded about a second after he said it.

The wands were lowered slightly. "Good morning," said Dumbledore, eventually. "I am Professor Dumbledore. These are my colleagues, Professor Snape and Professor Granger."

He nodded, slowly"Nice to meet you." He raised himself on his elbows and squinted. It was harder to see Dumbledore and Snape since they were standing so far back.

Amazingly, his vision had actually improved over the last four years. He supposed it must be true that if you spent a long time straining to see things without glasses, the eyes would adjust. He probably had great night vision too, but that didn't stop things blurring around the edges. The light was starting to irritate him as well. Logic told him that it was only early-morning sunlight and it was going to get brighter, but after so long in the dark, it _hurt._

"Now, I'm afraid, you have us at an advantage," hinted Dumbledore, eventually.

He might never know why he said it. Afterwards, he was glad that he had, but at that moment he had no reason to lie. Did he? Perhaps it was their stubborn lack of recognition that irked him. "Jenson," he said. "Mark Jenson."

Dumbledore smiled, apparently relieved. "Well, Mark. Welcome to Hogwarts."

Snape glared at the Headmaster, not quite subtly enough. "You said you knew Granger," he spat, turning back to face 'Mark'.

"Did I? I don't remember."

"Beth – one of our third years – said you called her 'Hermione'," said Hermione.

He smiled. _Merlin, but I did. _But he knew how to play this one. "I knew a girl called Hermione," he said. "But she wasn't you. The young lady yesterday looked a lot like her, though. I hope I didn't scare her too much."

"She'll probably live," snarled Snape. "How did you get these injuries?"

He looked the ex-Death Eater straight in the eyes. "Ynys Addoed." He pronounced it _Inis Athoid_, since he really only knew the name phonetically and wouldn't have a first clue how to spell it.

Snape hissed, as though in pain, Dumbledore frowned. Hermione looked between the three of them in polite confusion.

"The Isle of Death?" Dumbledore repeated. "There are Death Eaters there?"

"Some. Most don't even know that it's back in use."

"Surprising," sneered Snape. "Being sent to Ynys Addoed was a popular threat to both prisoners and followers in the Dark Lord's first rise to power. No prisoner who goes in ever returns alive."

The Potions Master's icy black gaze met his own, and 'Mark' stared back at him with equal defiance, until he felt a prickling at the back of his mind and realised that Snape was trying to see into his mind with Legilimency. He smiled. _Bit different from the last time, isn't it, old man?_

Snape gave up. "You're well taught," he conceded. "Is that how you escaped from Ynys Addoed?"

He smiled, giving the Professor neither a yes or no answer.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Dumbledore, giving Snape a look which quite clearly said, _Stand down._ "Why did you come to Hogwarts? How did you get past the security wards?"

_The wards? _He almost laughed. He'd forgotten about them!

"A man who was in the cells with me said that he used to go to school at Hogwarts. When I escaped, I found the Knight Bus and asked them to take me here. I don't know anything about any wards. They could only take me to the gates so I walked the rest of the way…"

It was what those in the torture profession called a 'safe' answer. If in doubt, say '_I don't know anything_.'

"By which time your Restorative was wearing off, I imagine," Snape sneered.

"In the cells with you? A Hogwarts student?" asked Hermione, her expression unreadable. "What was his name?"

OOO

**Ynys Addoed, 2001**

It was a different kind of scream.

After three years and seven months in Ynys Addoed, you came to recognise the screams. Sometimes you could tell who was screaming, but it was always easier to tell why.

You came to know the sound of death. The last scream. It was always the loudest – as if, even though the prisoner had hardly any voice left, they were trying to give it all that they had on their way out.

And then cut off, like a stopped flow of water. Or dying away, like the wind.

There was food beside him, but he couldn't eat it. He tried to believe that it wasn't happening, that his only friend in this place could survive even now. But no one survived the last scream.

No one survived Ynys Addoed.

_That's two now_, he thought. _That's two men I've outlived, two men that kept me believing…_He remembered Mr. Jenson and how he'd always told him to call him 'Mark', and how he never could because Mr. Jenson was an _Auror. _

And he could still hear Mr. Jenson's final screams.

It was only two years for Draco. A two year sentence. Just like regular jail except that at the end of the sentence, they didn't let you go. It was just over. Draco had told him this.

He wished he knew what his own sentence was. He knew how long he'd been in this cell before Draco arrived, because Draco had told him. And now Draco's sentence was over, and three years and seven months had passed since the day Harry Potter had followed Ginny into that alley… and the next thing he knew he'd woken up here.

He pressed reluctant hands to his ears, the clanking of the chains blocking out the sound for a blissful second.

It was seconds before he realised that the scream had ended. Its remains echoed around the stone walls before escaping into the wind, and was lost.

OOO

**Hogwarts, 2002**

There was silence.

"Draco Malfoy?" Snape repeated, eventually.

Jenson nodded. Hermione watched him carefully – there was very little emotion on his face.

"And he's dead?"

Another nod.

Snape sighed, and sat down. "I thought so," he said. "But Ynys Addoed… I had no idea."

Hermione was starting to get sick of people talking about things she'd never heard of. Ynys Addoed… it sounded familiar, but she had no idea what it meant. And Draco Malfoy? Wasn't he a Death Eater? Wasn't he in hiding with the rest of his family?"

"What was –?" she started to ask, but Dumbledore silenced her with a look. _Fine_, she thought. _But I'm going to have answers later. _

"I'm sorry," Jenson attempted. He was now sitting up in bed, in a sort of slumped over position. It couldn't be comfortable unless you were _used _to sitting that way… in her mind, Hermione erased the man's snug surroundings and replaced them with a stone room, chains holding his arms to the wall.

_He's sat that way for years_, she thought, and shuddered.

"Well," said Dumbledore. "I think we've exhausted you enough for one morning, at least. There will be people who have questions for you, I imagine, but we'll deal with that when the situation arises. For now, we'll see about finding some more… comfortable accommodation."

"Thank you," said Jenson, genuinely. It was the only really genuine-sounding thing he'd said for the entire interview.

"And we'll ask Madam Pomfrey about giving you some food," Dumbledore continued.

The man's eyes lit up, and he even sat up straight in anticipation.

"I shouldn't get your hopes up too much," said Dumbledore, as he left. Snape followed him, glaring at Jenson over his shoulder. Hermione followed them, her mind racing with questions.

After they'd left, the man who called himself Mark Jenson slowly got out of bed and opened the wardrobe door.

A thirteen-year-old girl fell out of it.

Beth let the man help her up. "Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome. Wait until Pomfrey comes and leaves, then try getting out."

Beth looked up into the scarred face. "That was a lie, wasn't it?" she said. "About Professor Granger not being the Hermione you knew. You said her name was Hermione Granger."

The man smiled. "I never lie," he said.

"I won't tell anyone," she said. "I mean, I understand about having secrets."

He only looked at her sadly. "Get back in before Pomfrey comes back."

Beth gingerly slid back inside the tight space. "Is your name really Mark Jenson?" she asked as he shut the door.

OOO

At lunchtime there was a staff meeting in Dumbledore's office, and it wasn't about a student. When the news had finished being related, most of the teachers sat in silence, waiting for someone to venture… anything.

"Ynys Addoed, Dumbledore?" McGonagall said eventually. "Are you sure?"

"The young man himself seemed sure," said Dumbledore.

"What _is_ Ynys Addoed?" Hermione asked, and a couple of the other teachers nodded in equal ignorance.

Dumbledore sighed, and settled himself in his chair as if preparing for some gruelling task. "It's not well-known about," he said. "During Voldemort's first rise to power, many Death Eaters did not even know what it was, only that it was not pleasant to come into contact with it. It was often used as a threat to keep them in line, and also to get information out of prisoners."

"Why did it scare them if they didn't know what it was?" asked Sinistra.

"It became somewhat of a ghost story. A place of horrors. The ultimate punishment."

"But what _is_ it?"

"It is, or was, an island," Dumbledore continued. "The Isle of Death. It is believed to be somewhere off the Northern Coast of Wales, although it cannot be seen by Muggles and has invisibility charms that would fool even a quite gifted wizard. It is very similar to Azkaban in that most of the island is comprised of a large castle, although a Dementor has never set foot in there – the guards are human."

At this point, Dumbledore nodded to Snape, indicating that he should continue.

"Twenty-one years ago, before the Dark Lord's fall, his most prized torturers were said to spend most of their time on the island," Snape recited. "Many of them have rooms in the top levels of the castle, and it can be Apparated in and out of so long as you know the Apparition password. Prisoners were sentenced and sent there – the sentence determining not how long until they were set free, but how long it should take for them to die. No prisoner has ever left the castle alive, and bodies are usually thrown into the sea."

"I hardly dare ask, but what kind of torture?" was Professor Sprout's question.

"Jenson has a row of snake bites on his inner arm. I believe this to be a revival of the ancient form of torture known as _Basium Poena_. If I'm right, then there are snakes in Ynys Addoed that, under instruction from the Dark Lord, will bite a victim just enough so that they will start to die slowly and painfully before the antidote is administered."

"He _also_ has an extensive list of other injuries," Hermione cut in, annoyed by Snape's apparent obsession with this _Basium_ thing. "Including two missing fingers, and –"

"Now, now, Hermione," said Dumbledore, with a slight smile. "Let's not bandy the poor chap's personal information around."

"What are you going to do with him, Dumbledore?" asked McGonagall.

"Do with him? Nothing, I should hope. He looks as though he's had enough done to him already."

"You know what I mean. Aurors will want to talk to him…"

"I doubt the Aurors have enough time on their hands to visit some supposed Ynys Addoed escapee," said Snape.

"We shall see," said Dumbledore. "In the meantime, we'll find him a room in the castle and see where it goes from there."

All the teachers left except Snape, McGonagall and Hermione.

"I don't like this, Dumbledore," said McGonagall. "The situation is entirely too familiar."

"I know. But it would be wrong for us to keep the man a prisoner just because we need more proof than his injuries to believe his story."

"Wrong, maybe, but safer," said Snape.

"You know me better than that, Severus. If what Mr. Jenson says is true, he's the first person ever to escape from Ynys Addoed."

"Which Death Eaters do you think are there, Severus?" McGonagall asked.

"The Lestranges," Snape said instantly. "They lived there before they went to Azkaban, and they're hardly ever used in combat. It's a good answer to the question of what they do with their time."

"Bellatrix Lestrange is one of Voldemort's chief torturers?" said Hermione in horror.

"More so than her good-for-nothing husband," sneered Snape. "There might be others, those in hiding, perhaps…" suddenly a strange look came over his face.

"What is it, Severus?" asked Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, may I speak with you privately?"

"Of course. Hermione, Minerva, I will see you at dinner."

Stung by this sudden dismissal, the two women left the office. They looked at each other as they descended the moving staircase. "What was that about?"

OOO

The simple broth-and-bread breakfast was better than a banquet. After a diet of scarce leftover scraps for years, the notion that someone would cook something just for him was little overcoming, even if the cook was just a House Elf.

He slept again, for a while. When he woke he was forced to turn away and pull the duvet over his head because of the light. When he finally plucked up the courage to peek out, he saw that he was in a different room. Quite a spacious one, with red and gold furnishings. _It's a Gryffindor party in here_, he thought, smiling. His jaws ached from all the smiling he'd done in the last few hours. When was the last time he'd smiled before today?

Maybe he couldn't remember.

He got up, squinting, and pulled the heavy red curtains over the window, which someone had opened to allow fresh air into the room, which might not have been used for a few years. There was an all-too-clean look to the place, as if someone had done a dusting job with a wand not hours before.

He breathed deeply when the curtain was closed. Much better. He looked down at himself – he was still in the hospital pyjamas, which was fine by him. They were better than that Malfoy robe – and ten times better than what he'd been wearing before that.

Something went bang somewhere over his head. It was probably just your average Hogwarts classroom accident, or even a door slamming, but it made him jump out of his skin. Panting, he sat back down on the bed. _Okay. Now I'm afraid of the light _and _loud noises. _

He lay down and tried to sleep again, but a horrible face kept drifting across the backs of his eyelids, and he whenever he dozed off, the same face haunted his dreams.

OOO

Beth couldn't wait until Transfiguration was over. She'd sat quite patiently through Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic, and hardly touched her lunch. The last class of the day before she could spend the whole afternoon in the library was painfully slow, especially since her rumbling stomach kept complaining that excitement and nerves was no reason to neglect it.

Professor McGonagall had seemed to understand when she'd had to admit that she hadn't finished her homework, so Beth supposed that someone must have told her about Mr. Jenson. When McGonagall didn't shout at her there were a few mutterings among her classmates of 'favourite' and 'teacher's pet', but they were quickly quelled by one of the Professor's trademark icy glares.

When the bell finally rang, Beth grabbed her bag, shoved all her books into it, and was out of the door before everyone else. Behind her she thought she heard the phrase 'elephant in a whirlwind' and laughter, but couldn't bring herself to care.

The library was nearly empty so soon after class, though there were a few senior students who looked up when she entered. Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, she put her bag on one of the tables and slipped between the shelves.

"Okay," she whispered to herself. "What am I looking for, exactly?"

She'd gone over what she'd heard from the wardrobe that morning in her mind several times, each time just as confusing as the next. There were a few things she didn't understand – like why had Mr. Jenson pretended to be asleep when the teachers came in? – but she was sure that the name they had all got so upset about was the key.

She unfolded the piece of paper where she'd written it so she wouldn't forget. It had been in her hand most of the day, so it was all crumpled and smudged, but still legible. It read:'Inus Athoid'.

The section of the library marked 'Geography' was right at the back, near the Restricted Section. It was a very small section – it didn't even have a whole stack to itself – but she found it eventually and picked a book at random. It was the first of a series.

_Magical Sites of Britain and Ireland (v.1 1000BM-500BM)_, by Dorothy Denizel.

Well, it was as good a place to start as any. Beth sat with her back leaning against the stack and her knees drawn up with the book resting on them, and began to search the index for some mention of the place Professor Snape had seemed so afraid of.


	6. Where I've Been

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Dear Readers.

I posted the last chapter right before I went on holiday, and came back to find a lovely collection of reviews waiting for me to read. I loved them all, thank you. I just want to tell you that I'm up to chapter 10 of this story and am trying to post at least once every two weeks – so if I start forgetting, please let me know in the form of a review and I'll throw up the next chapter, provided I haven't got devastatingly behind!

With Love,

Kim.

**STILL ALIVE**

6

Ron Weasley was awoken by the sound of something tapping very impatiently at his window at a time that was surely too early to be called morning. Groaning, he pushed the covers away and blearily opened his eyes. The sight of the Hogwarts school owl was not reassuring.

"Too early, Hermione," he muttered as he let the bird in. "All right, keep your feathers on." He yawned and reached for his robes. Once dressed, he gave in to the owl's impatience and took the letter from its beak. No sooner had he done so, it flew back out of the window. "Hey!" he called after it. "What if I want to send a reply?" But it was already out of sight.

Rolling his eyes, he unfolded the letter, which turned out to be not much more than a note.

_Dear Ron,_

_Happy Birthday! Isn't being twenty-two great? _

_Listen, I know this is an odd thing to ask, but I wonder if you know anything about a place called "Ynys Addoed"? I'm doing some research on it at the moment… but I have a hint that your library might have more about it than I can find at Hogwarts. It's Welsh – the spelling took me hours to work out so I hope it's correct. _

_Don't bother sending a reply if you find anything – I'm coming down tomorrow, as usual. _

_Love from,_

_Hermione._

_That's nice and cryptic_, he thought, shoving it into a pocket and making his way downstairs.

Ron was well aware that he was the only Weasley child to be living at home after the age of nineteen. Bill and Charlie couldn't wait to get out of the country the minute they left school, and Percy had stormed out after a year working for the Ministry. Fred and George lived above their shop, although they sometimes came down on weekends if they could hire enough help, and Ginny was sharing a London flat with Colin Creevy – not romantically, as she was constantly reassuring her family. It was close to the _Daily Prophet _office where they both worked, though she came around for dinner often enough.

Nope, Ron was twenty-two today and still in his old bedroom at the Burrow, now painted a dull red over the vibrant orange colour he'd had three years before. There was no point in moving out, really, not when he could just Apparate to training and back.

His mother had breakfast waiting for him, but he just grabbed a slice of toast and ate it standing up.

"Happy Birthday, darling," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Thanks Mum," he said, waving the toast.

"Won't you eat something properly, dear?"

"Nah – I've got an early morning class. Hey, have you ever heard of a place called Inis Aded, or something?"

"No – perhaps you'd better ask your father when he comes down –"

"When I get home," he called over his shoulder. "See you later!"

A few metres away from the house, he finished his toast, sighed, and Disapparated.

"Ron!"

A short dark-haired man was heading towards him through the students that milled around the Apparition point. Usually Ron would have been glad to see him, but today was a different matter.

"Hi, Beau."

"Bit gloomy, aren't you? Here," the man handed him a small package. Ron stared at it.

"It's not going to bite me, is it?"

Beau laughed. "No, but sorry about that. All part of the first-year hazing, you know how it is."

Ron did know. First year in the Magical Law Enforcement training facility was like first year at Hogwarts, except the bullies were much, much bigger and way more experienced in the art of subtle torture. It was a tradition to try and scare the newcomers witless, and this was ignored or even encouraged by the trainers, since it tended to wheedle out those not ultimately suited for the job.

Beau was in final year of training, and had been Ron's orientation partner, then his main tormenter, and then, when Ron had shown that whatever they could do to him was nothing compared to what he'd already experienced, his friend.

"I promise, it's safe," Beau continued.

Ron gingerly peeled back the wrapping paper. It was a small, milky-blue globe. It looked like a stone that by pure chance was perfectly spherical. He whistled. "Beau – is this a Danger Detector?"

"Yep," said Beau, looking pleased with himself. "One of the best on the market, too, not your average street-stall rubbish. It'll heat up whenever you or anyone you're close with is in danger – so don't ever take it on a mission, I've heard about guys who got set on fire, bloody embarrassing thing to happen. Cool though, huh?"

"This must have cost a fortune!"

Beau grinned. "No problem. I'm loaded, remember?"

Ron grinned back. Beau did not belong to an old wizarding family – in fact, both his parents were Muggles: but very rich ones. Beau managed to be casually arrogant about his wealth in a way that was more amusing than annoying, even to Ron, who couldn't wait until training finished and he could actually start getting paid for being blasted around a room several times a week. "You're a pal, Beau," he said, some of the morning's depressive quality dying away. "Early class?"

"Eugh. Combat," said Beau, making a face. "You're lucky you got here early, I was just about to go the training room, splash some water on my face and try and look like I've been working out for hours. You?"

"No. Thought I'd spend some time in the library. A friend of mine asked me to look for something," he added, at the horrified look on Beau's face. "Hey, I don't suppose you know something about someplace called…" he had to pull the letter out of his pocket to remind himself. "Ein-is Ad-o-ed?"

Beau shrugged. "All Greek to me. Good luck with it, though. Wish me not-too-many-bruises."

Ron waved as his friend jogged down the left corridor to the training rooms. As soon as he was out of sight, the overhanging sense of gloom returned. Ron looked down at the globe in his hand. _Could have done with that three years ago,_ said his treacherous brain, before he shook his head to banish the through from his mind.

_Don't think about that now. Library. Right. _

oO0Oo

Beth woke up with her face stuck to a book. Sitting up, she reached instinctively for the hairbrush on her bedside table and dragged it through the knots that had gleefully collected during the night. Only then, blinking blearily, did she close the book and glance at the title.

_The Best Places to Do a Ritual at Full Moon_, by Alexius Grobble.

Groaning, she marked her place with a scrap of parchment and rolled out of bed. At least she'd managed to get changed before falling asleep.

The other girls were already up and fighting for the bathroom. Emily had won the first round, but Molly, Ally and Sally were currently bickering over who should get next turn in the shower.

Beth grabbed a fresh robe from her trunk and threw it on, taking off her pyjamas underneath it.

Molly raised her eyebrows in ugly contempt. "That's disgusting, Green," she sniffed. "You haven't even washed or anything."

"I'm clean, thanks," Beth shot back. "I don't know whether you were rolling around in a mudpile during the night, but that's your business." When she reached for her bag, the books she'd borrowed from the library the previous night fell out of it.

Before she could pick them up, Ally leaned forward and snatched one. "_A Compendium of Wizarding Prisons Throughout the Ages_," she giggled.

The other girls grabbed some more "_A Wand and a Whistle – Memoirs of a Traveller in 1438_," read Molly.

"_Dark Lords and Handsome Heroes – Where They Made Their Homes_," laughed Sally. "Why are you suddenly so interested in _Geography_, Green?"

"None of your beeswax," Beth growled. "Now give those back before I tell everyone _you_ read them."

There were thankfully no fireworks when she got to the common room, though there was a huddle of suspicious looking first years over by the fireplace. She thumped down in the one remaining armchair and spread the books out in her lap.

It had gotten so late last night that Madam Pince had had to shoo her out, and she'd just borrowed a pile of books off the shelf to read in bed. She'd only got a few pages into _The Best Places to Do a Ritual at Full Moon_ by the time her brain had given up trying to recognise the squiggly black lines as words. Now she sighed, resigning herself to another day of reading.

William Ross – the pathetic third-year Gryffindor who wasn't in Dom Hinch's bunch of criminals but wasn't smart enough to be friends with Quin Weasley – was sitting opposite her. "What are you reading?" he asked.

She looked up at him. He had his legs crossed under him on the chair, and was resting a book even bigger than her own on his lap. "Nothing interesting," she said, trying to divert him.

"It's a textbook, isn't it?" he said. "How can you read that stuff?"

"It's still the same language," she snapped, looking back at her book. "I'm not that inept, like some people."

She meant to imply him, of course, but he said, "You mean Emily and whatnot?"

She glanced at him "Maybe," she said, a smile itching to invade her face. "What are _you_ reading, then?" He held it up so she could read the title. "'_Julian Fischer and the Forgotten Ones'_?" She screwed up her nose. "Sounds like a children's book."

"It is not! It's got nearly a thousand pages, so there."

"I say, is that Julian Fischer?" said an inquiring voice from behind William's chair. It was Quin. "My brother's mad about Muggle books."

"Does he have this one?" asked William, timidly. Beth, who had been thinking that maybe William Ross wasn't quite so pathetic after all, re-revised her opinions. Fancy being afraid of Quinton Weasley!

"Don't think so," said Quin. "Give you half a Galleon for it when you're done."

"You can have a brand new one for the same price," said William, with a slight smile. "My step-dad can never be bothered to check what books I already have at Christmas, so I have a bunch of extra copies."

"Excellent!" grinned Quin. "But hey, why don't you sell your old one and keep the new one?"

William shrugged. "I like the old ones."

Beth decided that the Alexius Grobble book was going to be about as useful in her search as a guide to _The Best Place to Buy a Saucepan on Full Moon. _She put the book aside and reached for _A Compendium of Wizarding Prisons_.

"Looks dull," Quin observed. She glared at him. "Fine," he said, "but you needn't be so snappy all the time."

"I wouldn't be if people ever said anything intelligent."

To her surprise, both boys laughed. She wouldn't admit it, but she might have smiled. Just a little.

oO0Oo

He woke to a room slightly dimmer than it had been when he'd gone to sleep. Glancing at the clock, he realised it was morning – he must have slept all through yesterday afternoon and the night.

The constant sleeping was starting to get unnerving. He supposed he was catching up after years of being either painfully awake or blissfully unconscious, but the fact that he'd been asleep while things had been _happening_ in this new world he found himself in – it was so _alive_ – was thoroughly disappointing.

He forced himself to get out of the bed – _far _too soft – and had another look around. There were doors that he hadn't bothered to notice the day before, and the first one he tried led to a bathroom.

He turned the handle of the tap and watched the water pour out into the basin.

It was incredible, really.

He had another bath, scrubbing his skin until it was sore. The water was warm and soothing, and he took a break every few moments to lean back and let it soak him. His hair got horribly in the way despite the string that held it back, but he washed it anyway before regretfully getting out of the water.

Looking in the small face mirror, he saw that some stubble had crept back onto his chin. He glared at it, the stubborn reminder of what he'd looked like yesterday. He located a razor and carefully shaved it off, making sure not to cut himself. Any more wounds and they could probably hire him out as a tourist attraction, after all.

The hair was a bigger problem. There wasn't anything else sharp in the bathroom, but there _was _a scraggly old hairbrush. He'd never used a brush in his life, but a comb wasn't going to cut it. It took a long time to drag the wretched thing through most of the knots, but it _did _sort of help. He tied it back with the string again.

His head started to swim a little and he reached out a hand to clutch the edge of the basin. He looked over his shoulder cautiously before reaching into his pyjama pocket for the finger-long vial.

oO0Oo

There were clothes waiting for him on the bed when he came out. He stared at them for a moment before unfolding them – a pair of worn, faded jeans and a plain grey T-shirt. He pulled them on and looked in the mirror – a proper full-length one, this time.

"Gosh, aren't you skinny!" it said.

_Maybe I'll give up mirrors from now on_, he thought. 'Skinny' was somewhat of an understatement.

He was not himself. This, he considered, he must have always known, since even the first day of his imprisonment. His eyes were not his eyes – his face, to some extent, was not even his face. Perhaps it was the starved, sallow appearance brought on by years of malnutrition, but it seemed there was an even deeper change that his experiences could not construe. Unnerved, he turned away.

He tried the door, but it was locked. The window was open, though, and only about three floors off the ground. It was a view of the Forbidden Forest from the opposite side to Gryffindor tower. It made him feel off balance…

After three nights ago, a jump to the ground from the third floor of a castle was almost nothing. He leant out of the open space –

_He stood on the edge, the robe flapping around him like an enveloping blanket, cold wet wind whipping across his face and stinging his eyes with salt. The water crashed beneath him, roaring in his ears like jungle drums. _

"_Go!" shouted the voice from behind him. "Go now!" _

_I can't – it's too high – I can't –_

"_Harry – JUMP, you idiot!"_

_I'm not going to die now, not after all of this, not after so long…_

"_Harry –"_

_The door behind him banged open. He jumped._

He shook his head. Was it only three nights ago? It felt like a lifetime.

The door didn't open, but he sensed, all of a sudden, that he was no longer alone. "Hey," said the voice that just moments ago had echoed in his memories.

"Hey," he answered, not turning around.

"Wow. You actually look almost human in those. Muggle human, though."

"Thanks."

"I didn't think I'd find you alone. Figured you'd be off being interrogated somewhere."

"Interrogation's over."

"Really? Sort of quiet, then, isn't it? No chaos in the corridors, no bells ringing, no jubilee..."

He sighed. "I didn't tell them."

"About what?"

"About me. Who I am."

A pregnant pause. "It was all going so well."

"I know. I'm sorry. I told them everything else, about the island, everything. Only – they didn't recognise me. I didn't – I couldn't find the strength to argue my own case, I suppose."

"Who did you say you were?"

"Mark Jenson."

The owner of the voice caught the reference, and chuckled. "Oh well. It could still work for us. Did you stick to what you were going to say about me?"

"Every word."

oO0Oo

5. Draco Non Soldus – I Think I'll Be a Good Ghost – Say Hi To Your Mom


	7. Ghost Theory

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**7**

"Harry... Harry. Harry! Wake up and see this, would you?"

The voice registered in his brain, but it took a few seconds for the true realisation to send it into overdrive.

He sat upright. "Draco?"

"That's right. Don't strain your eyes, though."

The first thing that sprang into his mind was that Draco was in _Harry's _cell, not his own. How did he get in?

Then he shook his head to make way for a much more important point.

"You're dead," he whispered, the tattered shreds of his mind starting to drift back into place.

There was laughter, echoing around the walls. Then a silvery shape appeared out of the darkness. It was Draco, upright, but transparent. "Do I look dead to you?"

"Yes, very," he said, his throat dry with a mixture of panic and relief. "You're a ghost."

"Isn't it brilliant?" the man had the biggest grin on his face. It looked weird. It was Draco, and it was a ghost. The word 'grin' did not equate.

"But you're _dead_, Draco," he croaked.

"Yeah, so? You think I wanted to stay alive after two years in this place?" He sat down on the air, crossing his legs like some spectral genie. "I can haunt the Lestranges for as long as I want! See if they can do anything about me now."

"You want to stay here?" he asked, trying to drag some semblance of rational thought from the haze of cotton wool that seemed to be his brain. "Can't you go wherever you want?"

Draco floated down so he was sitting roughly on the floor, at the same level as his friend. "Okay," he said. "Here's the thing. I'm dead, right, and then I wake up and I'm in no pain, which is pretty weird, I think, so I sit up and the Lestranges are cackling all over my body, so I _realise _– I'm a ghost. And_ invisible _to boot, so I walk through the door and wander through the corridors a bit until I work out how to make myself visible again. And then…" he paused. "I felt this… pull. Like someone was tugging at all the parts of my body all at once. And I followed it, because I didn't really have anything else to do, and here I am."

"Me? I didn't do it on purpose."

"Guess not," Draco sighed. "But, you know how ghosts are always supposed to have some unfinished business? I think _you're _my unfinished business."

A memory stirred. "I thought ghosts had to choose to be ghosts, or something."

"Maybe I did," said Draco with a grin. "Maybe I went to heaven and they said, hey, would you rather come back as a ghost? And I said, yes please, I'd like to help the total prat I left behind…"

"Well the 'heaven' part can't be true," he groaned. Turning slightly he felt pain. There was a fresh pair of puncture wounds on his arm that seemed to have partially immobilised him. He remembered feeling the venom spread through his body like acid, shaking him again and again in spasm…

"Very funny. Anyway, I think this'll keep happening. I don't know the logistics of it, but I doubt I'll be allowed to stay away from you for very long, worse luck."

Harry chuckled, hoarsely.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Oh, _thanks_."

"You know what I mean."

oO0Oo

Ron wasn't having much luck. The library in this building was much smaller than Hogwarts, granted, but it catered to a specific theme, which was why Hermione had asked him to look here. There was, however, nothing on the subject she had requested he look for, so at nine o'clock he shoved the big pile of books to one side and joined the crowd outside the classrooms.

At Hogwarts he had thought that schoolwork was pretty much a waste of time, and it had reflected in his NEWT scores. Of course, he wasn't in the best condition at that time, and the practical examiners seemed to take his recent loss into account. MLE training was something else.

One option was to be an Auror, of course, but few students took that course immediately after leaving school, and you needed top grades. It was an easier option to just work for the department, but not by much. It could mean a desk job, but when you had criminals and victims being hauled into the office every day, you could hardly label it 'cozy'. And you could still be out in the field during war.

There was conscription, too, when during the hardest of times anyone could be in the wizarding army, but well-trained men were needed to be minor officers. And if you did well in _that _capacity and were recommended by a superior, _then _you could take the next step to being an Auror.

The training program was three years, during which the students took highly advanced courses in Transfiguration, Charms, Duelling, and Combat, which was like Duelling only there were far less rules, and somehow you were always on the losing side.

Ron did well in Charms, but so did most people. It wasn't really needed except to keep your spell knowledge up-to-date. It was to the Charms classroom that he now walked, nodding at the people that yelled birthday greetings to him from across the benches.

The teacher was known to most as 'Roswell'. He was a rough-looking ex-Auror who, though seemingly uninterested most of the time, had an uncanny way of pinpointing a student's problems and given them sound, if harsh, advice. Most were terrified of him, and to be left alone with him in a room was considered something close to being buried alive. The man winked evilly at Ron as he sat in the front row, next to a small blonde girl.

"Ron! Happy Birthday!" she exclaimed.

"Thanks," Ron smiled. He really liked Jeanne. The girl _looked _fragile, but he'd learned the hard way that she was a whirlwind with a wand, and also had a fantastic right hook.

"Rope tricks today, lads," grinned Roswell, as the class quietened. "And ladies," he added quickly, after the stoic reaction from half the class. "Get in pairs, tie your partner up – _with wands, _mind, no business like last time, then he – or she – has to try to escape. Sound like fun?"

"Sounds like we've done it a _trillion_ times," Jeanne muttered.

"What was that, Timmons?" barked Roswell.

"Nothing, sir!" Jeanne replied cheerfully.

"Well get on with it, will you?"

"Yessir! Want to partner?" she added to Ron.

"Sure, but only if –"

"I get to tie you up first," they said together.

Jeanne sighed. "All right, fine. Since it's your birthday. But don't even _think _about hanging me upside down."

By the end of the class only four people had manage to wiggle, charm or otherwise make their way out of the ropes. "You're way too good at this," Ron complained when, without warning, the ropes binding Jeanne fell off all at once despite her wand being fastened to her side.

"Sorry," she grinned. "I can't help being brilliant, you know."

"Class dismissed," grunted Roswell, who had been reading the newspaper for the majority of the lesson. "Untie your partners and congratulate the escapees."

Ron shook hands with Jeanne, who laughed amiably. "Better luck next time," she said. "I'm hungry after all that – you coming to the Mess?"

Ron glanced at Roswell, whose attention had returned to the newspaper. "I'll meet you there," he told Jeanne. "I just need to ask something."

Jeanne stared at him, then glanced up at the old man behind the desk. "Er, you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, all right, but hurry up, okay?"

Ron nodded and waved as she left; hoping she and the others didn't have some obscene birthday thing planned. It would be just like his friends to try to cheer him up on a day when there really wasn't much point. No one ever talked about Harry. His application for a day off classes on the fourth was always approved without question.

"Sir?" he said, approaching the desk.

"Sloppy work today, Weasley. Whenever there's a Death Eater needs catching, you can make sure to let someone else do it."

Ron knew this wasn't fair – he wasn't, after all, the only one whose prisoner had escaped – but Roswell didn't believe in compliments.

_That's what I get for trying to talk to him out of class_, he thought.

"Yes, sir."

"Was there something, Weasley?"

"Er, yessir. I'm trying to find some information on a place called Inis Ah-do-ed. Or something. I'm not all too clear on the pronunciation."

Roswell frowned, not in anger, but more like subtle interest. "Are you indeed? And why are exactly are you interest in something like that?"

Ron shrugged – Hermione hadn't sad anything about her investigation being secret – and showed him the letter. Roswell perused it for a moment before waving his wand at it, apparently checking for hexes or invisible ink. Finding none, he said: "I see. Doesn't give you much of a starting point, does she?"

"No, sir."

"Well," said Roswell, handing back the neatly-folded letter. "I can't help you, lad. As far as I know the place doesn't exist; sort of a Bogey-Man deal for Death Eaters. You won't find anything, is my guess. You'd do well to ask your friend to use someone else in her research endeavours."

"Yessir. Thank you, sir."

Ron hastily left the classroom. Once the door was closed he leant heavily against the wall, breathing hard.

_Sorry Hermione. I guess I've got nothing. _Or at least, nearly nothing, but he wasn't nearly brave enough to press the ex-Auror any further. He was reputed to be one of the fiercest fighters the MLE had ever had, and knew more ways to kill you with a wand than even your average Death Eater.

He shook open the letter, thinking that maybe he'd look at it one more time before throwing it away… but there was something different on the parchment now that made him stare in amazement.

Underneath Hermione's neat, small script, was an almost illegible two-word scrawl.

_Richard Gray._

oO0Oo

The ghost of Draco Lucius Amadeus Malfoy had, it must be said, been dealt a pretty rough deal. He had not, at least to his knowledge, _asked_ to be a ghost, no matter what Nearly-Headless-Nick had apparently told Harry nearly six years ago, so his whole situation could be considered pretty damn unfair if you looked at it from his side of the bloody transparent fence.

He'd been dead now for just over four months. There were, he supposed, advantages and disadvantages to the circumstances.

He couldn't eat, he had discovered, or sleep, but then he didn't really need to, anyway. He could fly and walk through walls and be invisible... which was all great, really, but he missed… well, he wasn't sure what it was, but there was something he'd had when he was alive that he no longer had as a ghost. Not to mention the feeling that kept appearing out of nowhere and sending a shiver down his semi-transparent spine, the feeling that he really wasn't supposed to be here, that he had passed on and then passed _back_, and it was quite uncomfortable.

There was also the fact that ghosts tended to look the same as their bodies had at the precise moment of death.

His overgrown hair had been streaked with blood which, okay, looked pretty obvious because of his pale hair colour, but now, although he was basically silver all over, he still somehow managed to look like an old opaque badger.

His boots looked basically intact – they were good ones from _Pure Wizarding_ that his father had bought him for his nineteenth birthday. His shirt however, hung off his shoulders like one big rag. His trousers only stayed up because of a very good-quality belt-charm he'd had put on them after that embarrassing incident at the French Embassy.

He'd been in possession of a good shaving charm as well, which had lasted ever since he'd first shown signs of stubble at seventeen, which Goyle, who'd had a charm since he was twelve, had thought hilarious. So at least he didn't have a beard down to his chest like Harry had, although that probably would have helped hide the massive scar from left ear to chin.

The cause of death was, at least, not evident. Apparently in the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange, sharp things and snakes were fun in the long run, but couldn't beat a slow death by the Cruciatus Curse. He couldn't help feeling a little grateful that he didn't have his head hanging half-off.

"I can't believe they gave you a Gryffindor room," he said, poking his nose through the wall to see next door. "There's a Hufflepuff one through here."

"So long as they didn't stick me in Slytherin. That would be _really _insulting."

Draco pulled his head out of the wall. "For someone who goes on and on about prejudice, you sure have a whole bunch of it when it comes to my House."

"Because it's evil."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "And werewolves aren't?"

"No. Not most of the time, anyway."

"Ha! That's an improvement. I though you were going to pull the 'they can't help it' line on me again."

"Say, haven't we already had this argument say, fifty or so times?"

Draco grinned. Bickering was a lot more fun when you were getting along, for some reason.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Draco cursed and flickered into apparent non-existence as the lock clicked and the door opened.

oO0Oo

Hermione's students surely must have noticed her distractedness yesterday. It was a good thing she hadn't had any NEWT classes in the afternoon. It wasn't normally like her to doubt her colleagues, but she couldn't help worrying over the wisdom of locking Jenson in an unsupervised room, no matter how unconscious he'd been when they'd moved him.

She slept fitfully, waking up occasionally from dreams she couldn't recall. She got out of bed early and marked a few essays before giving up. If Jenson was awake, he was probably confused and maybe even frightened, or angry. _Someone _had to speak to him.

She rummaged through the bottom of her wardrobe and came up with some of Ron's things, leftover from the last time he'd stayed at her house during the Christmas holidays. She hoped Jenson wasn't averse to wearing Muggle clothing, and she considered asking one of the male Professors if she could borrow their robes – amusement flickered in her mind as she imagined what Snape would say if she asked _him_ – but classes would start soon and she didn't want to waste any time.

She knocked before entering, just to warn him that she was coming in. It wasn't as though he could open the door… she almost had a panic attack when she saw that he wasn't there. A few moments of stunned silence on her part, however, allowed the sound of running bath water to reach her ears. Heart still pounding slightly, she left the clothes on the bed and hurried off to the awaiting group of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff fourth-years.

When she came back an hour later, some of that morning's dread had worn off. If the man was taking a bath, then he couldn't be too distressed. The corridors seemed much longer than usual, and she wished she wasn't doing this by herself. Didn't anybody else _care_ what was going on?

On reaching the door she took out her wand, knocked, and whispered the unlocking charm. Jenson was standing by the window, looking a little startled.

She had to stop herself from drawing breath – Ron was quite thin, made up for by height, but the T-shirt Jenson wore could have been three sizes smaller and still too big. At least the jeans did something to hide the man's general skeletal-ness. His hair was marginally straighter, too, and she made a mental note to get him a better tie than a piece of old string – or at least a pair of scissors.

"Hi," she said, lamely.

"Hi," said Jenson. His voice sounded less hoarse already. She was sure that it would need more than a day to get over years of disuse, but she filed that away for future reference.

"Those look good on you," she continued, motioning towards the jeans. He looked down at himself.

"Oh," he said. "Are they yours?"

She smiled, despite herself. "A friend's. He's always leaving stuff at my house, though, so it serves him right."

"Thank you. And thank your friend for me. I'll give them back, of course, once I get some things of my own."

"I expect you'll want to see your family," she said, watching him carefully. He merely leant back on the window ledge, letting the sunlight bathe his face while keeping his eyes tightly closed.

"Yes," he said. "Soon."

"Professor Dumbledore said there might be some Aurors that want to talk to you, then I expect you can do what you like. You're welcome at Hogwarts for as long as you need, of course."

He straightened, turned, and closed the curtains. "Probably shouldn't do that for too long," he said, apparently to himself.

"Mr. Jenson –"

"Mark," he interrupted her, staring at the crimson curtains.

"Mark. I'm just curious. Where did you get the robe you were wearing when you arrived?"

He turned to her at last, an amused smile on his face. Something sparked in her mind but she ignored it firmly.

"Stole it," he admitted, unashamedly. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

oO0Oo

There are things he doesn't remember.

There are many people who don't remember the events of four or five years ago in any great detail, in fact, you'd be hard pressed to find someone who can remember much about what happened last week. But there are things that he knows he should remember, and when he searches for them in his mind, they are simply not there.

He doesn't remember his first kiss. He isn't sure if he's ever kissed anyone.

He knows he ought to remember these things, and he is sure that, at some point in time, he did remember. Maybe he remembered yesterday, and he's lost the memory overnight. How else could you lose a memory?

He doesn't remember the name of his primary school, the school he attended before Hogwarts, for six years. He doesn't remember the names of any of his teachers.

He doesn't remember the First Task of the TriWizard tournament. He knows he should, but this is all there is, a brief, fleeting memory of heat rushing against his skin and a rush of elation…

There is something else he knows he ought to remember, something important. But every time his mind looks directly at it, it fades away.

oO0Oo

Blaise Zabini was having an early lunch when the head of his old Potions Professor appeared in the fireplace. He nearly choked on a particularly dark piece of toast.

"Professor – what are you doing here?" he spluttered.

"Are you alone?" the Potions Master snapped.

"Well, yes, but –"

The head withdrew with a pop, and the next minute the fire was green and Professor Snape's whole body whooshed through the opening.

"Come right through, why don't you," Blaise muttered under his breath.

"I have a lead on the Malfoys, Zabini," Snape growled.

Blaise stood up. "Look, Professor. I can't keep doing this. Sooner or later the Dark Lord is going to realise – he knows _everything_, don't you see?"

"Of course I do, you stupid boy," Snape hissed. _I'm twenty-one, you bastard, _Blaise shouted inside his head, careful not to leave his mind open. "I was a spy for longer than you've been alive, so don't tell me that I don't know the risks. But you took this on yourself, Zabini, and it's far too late to try and get out of it now."

Snape had taught him well when it came to Occlumency – you _had _to be able to do it, to be a spy, and Blaise felt that he could _feel _the frustration radiating off the Potions Master.

"Fine. What is it? A lead on the Malfoys, you said?"

"Yes. They're on Ynys Addoed."

"The prison island? It's still in use?"

"Apparently so. An escapee arrived at Hogwarts two days ago wearing a Malfoy robe."

"A Malfoy escapee? You think they're _prisoners_?"

"No, the man couldn't be less of a Malfoy if he tried," Snape continued, pacing the dining room. "He told Granger that he stole the robe, but I believe at least one of them has to be living in the castle. Lucius Malfoy, most likely."

"And the others?"

Snape stopped pacing and looked up at him, not in anger or fear or disgust, but with an odd expression that, had he not seen it, Blaise might not have been able to imagine on his former Professor's face. "Our source informed us that Draco Malfoy was in facta prisoner in the cells. He's dead, Zabini."

A pang of loss for his childhood friend, for all he was an evil bastard, tingled in Blaise's stomach.

"But why?" he found himself asking. "And why didn't we know until now?"

Snape, a man who was notorious for hating questions unless he was asking them, sighed. "He was a spy," he said, slowly. "Of sorts."

"_Draco? _No way! He'd never betray the Dark Lord!"

"You'd be surprised. He was working with me, about two years ago. He told me something… useful. I never saw him again."

"He was found out?"

"I can only assume. I thought that he was safe, that he'd been forced into hiding with the rest of his family. The Dark Lord must have kept it quiet, perhaps even from Lucius and Narcissa."

"So he's been a prisoner, all this time."

"On Ynys Addoed. Look into it."

"How, exactly?"

"Use your imagination, boy."

As Snape turned to go, Blaise called after him: "Can you trust the man who told you all this?"

Snape sneered. "No. But from what we can see, he has no reason to lie."

oO0Oo

"You're right bloody honest, aren't you?"

He sat at the ornate desk, twirling a quill in his right hand. He'd located some parchment in one of the drawers. In the cell at Ynys Addoed, his missing fingers had hardly seemed important in matters of domestics, because there hadn't been any. But now even using a quill was difficult.

He attempted to hold the stem with his thumb and forefinger, and balance it on his middle rather than ring finger. It got easier with practice, but having a ghost reading over your shoulder certainly didn't help.

"I haven't told many lies," he argued through gritted teeth. "A few white lies, maybe."

"Here's a lie: "My name is Mark Jenson."

"Shut up. I told you why I couldn't…"

"And I heard you. It just didn't resemble logic in any way, shape or form."

He leaned back in the chair, using the feather to tickle the underside of his chin. "There's something…" he said, softly. His voice was returning – it was dust, grit and lack of water that made it hoarse, not disuse – and it was comforting to hear himself speak. It was one more real thing he could cling to. "Something that happened," he finished. "I don't know what… but something's stopping them from trying to see me."

"Trying to _see _you? As if they could miss you – have you seen your hair, by the way?"

"You know what I mean. I can't help but feel… if Hermione looked closer… she'd know it was me. But she doesn't want to."

"Well… you died, right? In front of witnesses and everything. "

He threw the quill back on the desk and stood, a little shakily, true, but standing up was such a _privilege_… "And are you ever going to tell me _how _that happened?"

Draco shrugged. The ghost had a tendency to stand in the shade, but currently there was a beam of sunlight shining through his stomach and making the silver buttons on his boots glitter. He didn't glide like some ghosts, either. Unless he was being particularly silly or trying to make a point, he preferred to walk – or at least _look _like he was walking. He could have just been someone wearing a slightly worn invisibility cloak.

"I wasn't there," he said. "I was here, I told you."

"And how convenient that you managed to get detention on the Hogsmeade weekend when I get 'killed'."

Draco glared at him. "There's no talking to you when you're like this," he muttered. "I think I'll go make some House Elves stutter themselves into silliness. See you."

He stalked through the wall.

'Mark' sat back at the desk and looked at the sheet of parchment on which he'd scribbled his name several times. After a moment he got up and threw it in the now steadily roaring fire.

The flames licked away at the parchment and the messily-scrawled words.

_Harry James Potter._

oO0Oo


	8. Death Day

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Dear Readers:

Thank you so much for all your great responses. Just thought I'd warn you in advance that I actually _use Harry's name _in this chapter! I know, what advancement.

Love Kim.

**STILL ALIVE**

**8**

By the time school was over, Beth was back in the library. So far she'd found a big fat nothing: she'd even tried several spellings of the words and nothing had come up. She'd seen Professor Granger browsing through the shelves, too, and she'd had a sneaking suspicion that her teacher was after the same thing _she _was… but the Charms Professor hadn't seemed to have much luck, either.

She nearly jumped a foot in the air when Madam Pince tapped her on the shoulder to tell her it was nearly lights-out. Eyes watering a little from the strain of reading for so long, Beth thanked her and grabbed her bag, leaving the books on the floor between the stacks, and left the library.

Half-way to Gryffindor tower she stopped, thought for a moment, and, heart pounding, set off in the opposite direction.

She wouldn't have known where to go had it not been for Professor Hagrid talking to Professor Sprout in the hallway that morning. She'd heard them mention the 'second floor suites' and had known instantly that they were talking about Mr. Jenson.

Still, it wasn't much to go on. The second floor was pretty huge… but she realised suddenly that she hadn't ever been in the West Wing of the second floor. Transfiguration was in the East Wing, but she'd never really thought about it before.

She reached the second floor, and frowned. Usually she would either turn right, to Transfiguration, or slightly left and down the staircase, to get to the first floor. There was a girl's bathroom a little further to the left, but no one she knew had ever said they'd gone further than that. She took a deep breath, and turned left.

It was a long corridor, with no paintings or suits of armour lining the walls, which made it look eerily bare. She was little more than halfway down it when the lights-out bell rang, and her heart started to thump even harder in her chest.

She was now officially out after hours.

Well, she stood just as much chance of getting in trouble if she went back now, so she hardened her resolve and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly a high-pitched cackling laugh echoed around her – she froze in mid-step and then squeaked in fear as something bumped into her from behind. She spun around to face a dark, empty corridor.

The laugh continued, originating from somewhere above her. It was definitely Peeves. But Peeves wasn't _solid. _Breathing erratically, she stretched out a hand in front of her. Only air met her fingers and she snatched them back.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, trying to drown out the silence that ringed in her ears. "It's my overactive imagination. Got to keep going." She turned around, and, feeling horribly like something was constantly looking over her shoulder, she kept walking.

She reached a door before too long, and then saw that there were four doors in a row. Beyond them was a dead end. This was it, then.

She tried the handle of the first door, and it squeaked, sounding ten times louder than it would have in daylight. It didn't open, however, and she pulled out her wand from her pocket, biting her lip. "_Alohamora._"

The door opened onto a room bedecked with green and silver furnishings, and dark, polished wood. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a writing desk and a door at the far right side. She could see all this because a beam of moonlight shone through the window.

Beth took one step inside. "Hello?" she asked, softly. There was no answer. Frowning, she made her way through the room to the window and looked out onto the grounds. It was too dark to see much, but she thought she could see the twinkling light of a fire coming from Hagrid's hut.

She left the room, feeling a little easier for some reason. She tried the next door. The room behind it was in Ravenclaw colours, and was likewise empty.

When she entered the third room, in yellow and black, she thought she saw something move near the curtain, but when she looked closer it was just the wind sliding through a gap in the woodwork, making the cloth twitch. She exited that room and turned to the last door.

"What's behind door number four?" she said, and it even made her feel a little braver. "_Alohamora._"

oO0Oo

Harry was woken by the sound of something hissing in his ear. He slapped at it. His hand went through something cold and horrible. "Draco!"

The ghost laughed.

"Have you been sulking all this time?" Harry snapped.

"I do not sulk. I was exploring. There's a girl coming, just so you know."

Harry sat up. "A girl? You mean a student?"

"Yeah. Gryffindor pin."

Harry groaned. "Beth."

"Who?"

"No one, just go away… disappear, or whatever you do."

"Fine, excuse me for breathing."

"You're _not _breathing."

The door creaked open. Draco sighed and vanished. Beth stared up at Harry from the doorway.

Dumbledore had come to see him in the evening, as had Hermione. Dumbledore had warned him that there would be Aurors coming to see him in the morning, and Hermione had brought him pyjamas and told him, rather sadly, that she wouldn't be at school tomorrow. He wanted to ask why, but didn't.

He'd asked instead, why he was locked in this room. Dumbledore told him that it was for his own protection, which he resented, but not much. He wished he'd appreciated the protection of Hogwarts earlier, and Merlin knew he needed it now. Still… he wanted to taste fresh air again…

And now, here was a frightened-looking third-year student on his doorstep.

"Um, hi," she said.

"Beth," he greeted her, sitting up properly with his back leaning against the headboard. "What are you doing here?"

She opened her mouth, then shut it again. It took her a moment to answer. "Well… I don't really know. Maybe I wanted to check if you were, you know, still here."

Harry stared at her. "I've been trying to find out stuff about you," she admitted. "It's pretty impossible. So I thought maybe I'd just ask you instead."

He couldn't help smiling at this. "How thoughtful."

There was a snort from the corner, which Harry promptly ignored.

"You were wearing a Malfoy robe," Beth blurted out.

Harry sighed. "Yeah – everyone seems really worried about that."

"The Malfoys are Death Eaters," the little girl announced.

"That's true," Harry nodded.

"Death Eaters killed my uncle and two cousins," Beth continued. "They were Muggles."

Harry shut his eyes briefly, wondering whether those were some of the deaths that he'd seen in his dreams. But no, that was unlikely. Voldemort rarely attended the random Muggle killings. He considered them beneath him.

Screams echoed in his mind, men, women and children …

"I'm sorry," he said, not looking at her.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all that, either," said the girl, softly. "But I don't really think you're a Death Eater."

I would have killed you by now if I was."

"Maybe."

Harry looked up at her, wondering now how he could have mistaken this girl for Hermione. Beth seemed to trust in her instincts rather than logic and evidence – something Harry could appreciate.

"Do you feel better?" she asked, when Harry said nothing.

Harry surprised himself when he answered truthfully. "I'm tired all the time," he said, "and achy. I can't stand up for too long at a time. But other than that, yes, I'm better, thank you."

She smiled, then looked quickly down at her shoes. "Did you get revenge?" she asked after a moment.

The question took him aback. "What?"

"Revenge. On the people who did that to you."

He stared at her. "No Not yet."

"But you will?"

Suddenly the conversation seemed rather absurd. Harry sighed. "Thankyou," he said, genuinely. "For helping me the other day. But you shouldn't be here."

"Yes, she said, looking disappointed. "All right. Sorry I woke you."

"I was already awake," he said, truthfully. "And… it _was_ nice to talk to someone who isn't being subtle about trying to figure me out."

"But I _am _trying," she point out.

"You and the rest of the world," he said, smiling at last. "Including me, I think. Now run back to bed before Peeves catches you"

"I _knew_ it was him," she said, matching his smile. "Goodnight, Mr. Jenson."

"Mark," he corrected. "Goodnight, Beth."

oO0Oo

Beth shut the door behind her, feeling a thrill of excitement run through her entire body. Forgetting her fear of the dark hallway, she pulled the strap of her bag higher up her shoulder and set off for Gryffindor Tower.

Behind her, an unseen figure let out the breath it had been holding and slumped against the stone.

"O_kay_…" it said.

oO0Oo

Ron was up early of his own accord. It was perhaps the only day of the year when this would happen. He hadn't been able to sleep at all, but instead had sat up reading and making notes, attempting to lose himself in the information he found on Richard Gray.

There weren't whole volumes, but there was way more than there had been when he'd just looked for _Ynys Addoed. _His notes thus far went somewhat like this:

_Richard Gray – born 1950, Auror 1972-1980_

_Killed total 20 Death Eaters, saved life of Minister Rowley_

_Order of Merlin, 2nd Class_

_Disappeared from his home, Oct. 1980. Believed to be captured by Death Eaters and sent to Ynys Addoed, Death Eater prisoner of war castle. Island off coast of Wales. Invisible to most, believed to be myth by many, however Death Eater spies confirmed its existence… Gray's body returned to family, May, 1981. Had 20 holes through arms and legs, one for each killed Death Eater. _

_Ynys Addoed never found. _

And other little details scribbled in the margin that he'd found in other books.

Every time he let down his guard and slipped into sleep, he saw fire.

_It roared in his ears and filled his eyes, and there were people holding him back. _

"_LET ME GO!" he screamed. "LET ME GO! HARRY!" _

_The blackened body of his friend walked towards him through the flames. "Ron… why didn't you help me… why couldn't you save me…" _

"Ron! Hermione's here, dear!"

Mr. Weasley voice jerked him out of the painful reliving of the dream. "Okay, mum!" he called back. He left the books in a messy pile on his bed and grabbed the notes.

Hermione was indeed waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him with a sad smile. Just as he had last year, and the year before, he stumbled forward and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned into him, breathing deeply as if struggling not to cry.

"You two go into the living room," said his mother, kindly. "I'll put on some tea."

They sat together on the big squashy sofa, listening to the sounds of Molly's hustle and bustle in the kitchen.

"I hate this day," Ron sighed.

"Me too."

They waited a while longer, just taking comfort in the other's presence.

"Did you at least have a good birthday, yesterday?" Hermione asked.

"All right. Jeanne and Beau and some other idiots tried to ambush me in the Mess."

She giggled. "What with?"

"Custard pies. I caught on, though. No custard for me."

"Good."

"How's Hogwarts?"

"Fine. Dreading end of year exams. Especially the OWLs. There'll be hardly any O's this year, the fifth years are somewhat… distracted."

Ron groaned. "Don't tell me. Snape said something to you about it being a classroom full of me, didn't he?"

"No, actually he used Neville. But he's not exactly wrong. Anyway, it doesn't matter."

"Right."

Mrs. Weasley came in with the tea and a plate of biscuits. Ron couldn't help but notice that her eyes were already a little red around the edges.

_I HATE this day. _

"Hey," he said to Hermione. "I did that research you wanted."

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "Thank you."

"It's not much," he said, handing her the notes. "It better be worth something, though, after my Charms teacher nearly killed me when I asked him."

"Killed you?" Molly exclaimed as Hermione thumbed through the parchment.

"Well, okay, maybe not _killed_… but he gave me a look."

"A look?" said Hermione, glancing up at him. "You're not being a bit over-dramatic?"

"He's very intimating," he tried to explain.

"Well, thank you for this," said Hermione, leaning on his shoulder. "It looks mostly like things I already know, but there might be something useful."

"Why are you so interested in this place, anyway?" he asked her, his mother listening interestedly.

"Snape mentioned it," she yawned. "I thought it might be important."

Ron couldn't help feeling there was something more behind it – surely she wouldn't have asked him to help, otherwise – but left it alone for the moment. "Who else is coming?" she asked.

"Dad's at work," he told her. "There was an incident last night, we think."

"Oh no. Where?"

'No idea. He just ran off as soon as he got the fire-call."

"Oh."

Green flame suddenly shot up in the fireplace, and a redheaded young woman stepped out of it, brushing soot off her dark-blue robes. "Oh," she said, looking up. "Hi, Hermione."

"Hey, Ginny. How's things?"

"Awful," said Ginny, thumping down into the chair opposite. "You know how I had that great idea about becoming a _Prophet _reporter and try to change the system from the inside so that there would be truthful, unbiased accounts of events and things that people really need to know rather than what they just want to hear?"

"Yes?"

"Well, maybe I give up on that idea."

"Don't be silly, dear," said Mrs Weasly, pouring her a cup of tea. "You just need a bit more time."

"No, really," Ginny insisted. "I'm not like Charlie and the twins, I can't just find something to do with my life and stick with it. I had no idea what I wanted to do when I left school."

"Trust Creevy to drag you into the whole _Prophet _thing," Ron muttered.

Ginny made a face. "Living with Colin is starting to get on my nerves, too," she admitted. "Not because he fancies me!" she added quickly before Ron could adopt his 'aha!' attitude. "He's just _always _around. And also, kind of a slob. You wouldn't think it."

"Really Ginny," Molly scolded. "I expected you to settle into something once you got back from that absurd trip…"

"I'm not a settler, Mum," Ginny shot back. "Just accept it. I want to try different things."

"You're far too much like Bill," Molly sighed. "He said he's going back to Egypt after the war is over."

Silence fell over the small group at Molly's words.

_After the war is over_, Ron thought. What a familiar phrase it had become.

Ron was a member of the Order of course, as was Hermione. Some had jokingly referred to them as the new generation Lily and James Potter, both of whom, like Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, had joined the Order at only eighteen. Also like the Marauders, they had come to know of the Order through what they had lost – James had lost his parents, Ron and Hermione had lost their best friend.

Ginny wasn't officially in the Order, though she did her part. She'd accompanied Bill on a mission to Russia shortly after leaving Hogwarts, much to her mother's dismay, and by trying to keep ugly rumour out of the newspaper she helped with secrecy.

It was, however, clear to all that she was attempting to help the war effort only in small, unobtrusive ways.

She hadn't been there when Harry had died. She'd been somewhat avoiding him since their emotional break-up a few weeks before, and she regretted that more than she had ever regretted anything else in her entire life. When the rest of the Hogsmeade students returned – and some didn't – she ran immediately to Ron and Hermione, asking what had happened, demanding to see Harry.

They didn't even look at her.

McGonagall had calmly asked all students to return to the dormitories. Ginny had to ask a few people before anyone would tell her.

_Harry's dead. _

The news spread around the school like an electric circuit. _Harry Potter's dead._

By the time Molly and Arthur had arrived to take Ron and Ginny home for a week or so and to attend the reading of the will, Ginny wasn't speaking to anyone either, and she'd already run out of tears.

She'd been out of the country with Bill during that brief, wonderful period when they thought he'd come back, and no one had thought to tell her until after the impostor was dead. She supposed that was a good thing, though. Thinking that his friend had come back and then finding it wasn't true – that had nearly killed Ron. She didn't think she could have borne it.

She came to these meetings, though, once a year, no matter what. The first one had been purely accidental – people needing to be close to others that were feeling as sad and lost as they were on the anniversary of Harry's death, the day after Ron's birthday. This was the fourth one, and she, of course, was second to arrive only to Hermione.

After a while, more people came, Apparating or coming through the Floo, all gathering in the living room. They sat on the floor when there were no longer any available seats. Hardly anyone spoke much, except in greeting.

They sat together, and hated the day.

oO0Oo

"I found out."

Draco Malfoy's spectral voice jerked Harry out of a bad daydream, the sort where you find yourself lost and aren't really sure how to return to reality. He was grateful for the distraction. "Found out what?" he yawned, moving away from his station at the window. _Damn _this constant tiredness! His hand twitched unconsciously towards the vial in his pocket, but he hid it from the ghost.

"Why the place is so bloody quiet. Where your friend Granger is. You said you wanted to know."

"Where Hermione was, yeah. But I didn't realise it was quiet. Or quieter than normal, anyway."

"No, I don't suppose you would. The lack of screaming in _this _castle is unnerving."

"Tell me about it. So, what news?"

"You won't like it."

"Tell me," Harry sighed, sitting on the footboard and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed.

"It's your death day."

"My _what_?" he exclaimed, sitting up.

"The day you died. Four years after, exactly. I heard McGonagall and Sinistra talking. Granger's gone to some party or something that they do."

"Wait – they have a party on the day I _died_?"

"Well, it's probably not a very enjoyable party."

"No, I mean…" he trailed off, trying to allow himself time to let the whole thing sink in.

He was _dead_. Really dead.

Draco had told him, of course. How there'd been a funeral and how his friends had put things in his coffin, things that reminded them of him, chocolate frog cards and Quidditch magazines. They hadn't talked about _how _he'd died, because Draco refused to tell him, sticking to the story that he'd been at school when it happened. Harry felt that he was exercising enough self-restraint by not asking his ghostly friend why he'd been sent to Ynys Addoed in the first place. It wasn't like he needed personal details, just some hint as to _how_, or _why_…

None of it had seemed real at all, not back in his cell when the only light was when someone walked past carrying a torch. He hadn't truly believed, or even really thought about, the effect that his death would have on those he knew. Something in him had still believed that they would be waiting for him.

Instead, they were still mourning him.

He didn't know _who _had been killed that day, in Hogsmeade, but it sure as hell hadn't been him. The last scrap of daylight he'd seen was… he couldn't truly remember, but he'd been in the pub with Ron, at some point…

"It's good though," the ghost said now, once again interrupting his unpleasant musings. "If your sentence was four years, like I thought, then we got out just in time."

"I don't think it was, anyway. Not with… you know. Everything that was going on." Harry tried to talk about it without thinking or forming an image in his mind, but the last few months…

"Hah."

"Don't start."

"I wasn't."

Harry sighed, rolled off the bed and returned to the window. The clear blue morning sky looked so inviting.

Death day, indeed.

"Are you okay?" asked the oddly concerned voice from behind him.

"No," he said. "But I feel like flying."

oO0Oo


	9. Feel Like Flying

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**9**

_My Dearest Mark_

_I don't know where you are, or whether you are even still living. I leave this letter behind so that, should you ever return, you'll know why you come home to an empty house. _

_I love you, Mark. So very much. When they told me you were taken I thought my heart would break, and every day that passes since I am ashamed to admit that I wish it had, even as I wish that you would come back and heal the cracks. _

_Our beloved Jason was all that kept me alive, love. I could scarcely hear the words when they told me he'd contracted that terrible Muggle disease. Our darling boy was a squib after all, Mark. It must go to show how much you changed me and my inbuilt pureblood prejudices, in that I don't blame you, nor your poor Muggle father for our son's death. And now Jason is gone, and I'm alone._

_Something in me tells me that you are dead, and so I will die, and be with you. But the part of me that refuses to believe the truth and cling to what cannot be, that is the part that urges me to tell you this, my darling husband. There's no further reason to me without you, without our son. _

_There's no reason left in the world, Mark, and so I leave it. I hope that, whether or not you somehow still live, you can find it in your heart to forgive me. _

_Yours Forever_

_Olivia._

oO0Oo

The broom was a Chaser 17, first made in about 1942 and not sold except as collectables since 1968. Half the twigs had fallen out of the tail, and you could feel the slightly hand-shaped dents in the wooden handle where countless decades of Hogwarts students had gripped it. It was slower than an average car in peak-time traffic, had a reaction time of about eight seconds and refused to go any high than twenty feet into the air.

It didn't matter, though. Even if the broom had been a brand new Firebolt, the wind blowing through Harry's hair and whistling in his ears, and the feel of the sheer defiance of gravity speeding through his veins, that was enough.

It was hard, however. He lacked the strength in his arms and upper body needed to turn the broom, and his shoulders and back started to ache painfully with the effort. He'd also never realised just how much he used the last two fingers on his left hand to hold on while flying, and the lack of them now made him feel lopsided and off-balance. His right arm was no help either, made weak by repeated poisoning. If someone had thrown a snitch at him he wouldn't have been able to catch it even if it bounced off his forehead.

It was sheer determination that got him through three laps of the Quidditch Pitch before he landed awkwardly on the grass by the lake and lay there, panting. At least lying down was something he could still do. He wondered whether the bites would impede his ability to do spells.

The sun beamed suddenly bright and hot behind his closed eyelids. He groaned and sat up, rubbing absent-mindedly at the marks on his arm, looking out over the surface of the lake as he did so, the water calm and still…

_His chest felt as though it was in an iron vice. His arms flailed around uselessly, the thick fabric of the robe he had stolen slapping him in the face... everywhere around him was black and cold. The water filled his eyes and ears and nose as he fought to breathe, all the time trying to push himself to the surface._

_His head suddenly emerged into what could only be air and he took a deep, life-giving breath before the force of the next wave pulled him back under, choking him as the water rushed into his mouth and down his throat…_

"Mr. Jenson?"

Harry took a breath before turning, just to reassure himself of his surroundings. _It's all over, _he thought, attempting to retain some small façade of normalcy. _Stay in the present, idiot. _

Two men and one woman in Auror robes were standing behind him, accompanied by Professor Snape. "Will you come with us, please?" continued the man who had spoken.

Regretfully Harry hauled himself to his feet. He stumbled, and the man took a step forward to catch him. "Thanks," he grunted, surprised.

"Up," he heard Snape say, and turned his head just in time to see the broom he had been riding lift lazily into Snape's hand. "Stealing school property now, Mr. Jenson?" the Potions Master sneered.

"Not at all," Harry shot back. "Borrowing school property. Besides, the security on your Quidditch shed leaves much to be desired."

"What about the security on your room?" asked the Professor. Harry merely smiled.

"Come along sir," said the Auror holding his arm. He continued to support Harry as they walked up to the castle leaving Snape to return the broom.

"Wow, that man gives me the creeps," said the male Auror, walking on the other side of Harry. "He was in the year above me at school. I'm Mr. Doggle, by the way. This is Mr. Price and Miss Wyndam. Sorry we couldn't offer a more official entourage, but I'm sure you've heard what day it is – not many people willing to work…"

Harry stared at him. "Oh," said Mr. Doggle, apparently assuming that Harry hadn't, in fact, heard. "Of course, you wouldn't know…young Harry Potter died, you see. Nineteen ninety-eight, fourth of March. Sad day for us all, of course."

It struck Harry suddenly what was so odd about the manner of the three Aurors. Of course, after receiving the news of his arrival they would have checked their own records and found all information available on emergency-Auror Mark Jenson. They had a Ministry file which meant he knew when he'd gone missing, where and when he'd gone to school, his family details, his Ministry and probably what he looked like, which might be why the rather Aunt-Petunia-looking Miss Wyndam was looking at him so strangely.

There were students in the Entrance Hall, most of which turned and stared as the three Aurors led him into a small room off too the side which had, as rooms in Hogwarts were wont to do, apparently appeared out of nowhere. Harry thought he might have seen Beth's face amongst the crowd before the door closed behind them.

"We thought you might not relish the idea of all those stairs," said Mr. Doggle, motioning to four heavily-cushioned chairs in the centre of the room.

"Very considerate of you." Harry waited for Mr. Price to let go of him before he sat down.

"How _did _you get out of your room, incidentally?" asked Mr. Price, settling himself into his own chair.

"The window, and a handy vine," Harry answered. "I've jumped from higher."

"I'm sure you have," said Mr. Price, taking out a notebook. "You gave your name to Professor Dumbledore as Mark Jenson, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"And you claim to have escaped from Ynys Addoed, the Death Eater prison?"

"Yes."

"Stop feeding him answers, Edmund," snapped Miss Wyndam irritably.

"Just clarifying some things, Vanessa," growled Mr. Price through gritted teeth. "You are a former emergency-Auror, yes? You disappeared in late nineteen-ninety-seven, after a Death Eater raid in Peterborough when all emergency units were called."

Harry closed his eyes. Yes. He'd been there. He'd been the one to warn Professor Dumbledore, and subsequently the Ministry, about the raid. It was nearly Christmas of his seventh year and he hadn't been able to eat breakfast, his hands were shaking so hard.

"_Harry… are you sure you're going to be…?" Ron asked him carefully. _

"_Do you smell fire?" Harry asked him suddenly. _

"_No, Harry, that was all in your dream, remem –"_

"_I can still smell it. And people are screaming." He pressed the heels of his palms to his ears. "People are dying." _

"Mr. Jenson?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"When did you escape?"

"Four… five days ago. You said today is the fourth of March?"

"That's correct, sir."

_So yesterday was Ron's birthday. Bloody hell, how did I manage this?_

"You told Professor Dumbledore you escaped on the Knight Bus?"

"Yes."

"Very well, we're following that up… you don't have a wand, I presume?"

"No."

From the other chair, Miss Wyndam's face lit up as if to say, _gotcha. _"Then how did you call the Knight Bus?" she interrupted.

Harry raised his eyebrows at her, silently thanking Draco for his theory lessons. "Come on. Don't tell me you don't know how to extend your magical signature within a confined radius and a slightly enhanced thaumic intensity?"

Unbelievably, Miss Wyndam cracked a small, almost indiscernible smile. He hoped she wasn't realising that what he had just suggested was impossible.. "And how did you pay?" she continued.

"I gave them a note and my vault number. Apparently times are pretty hard nowadays, so they accepted it."

"Very well," said Price. "We'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now."

"First off, any information you can give us about the prison would be very much appreciated," announced Doggle, apparently tired of all the meaningless banter. "Not now, of course," he added hurriedly. "As soon as we've got you settled…"

"Of course," said Harry. He was just about ready to agree to anything at the moment – he still didn't like the way Miss Wyndam was looking at him.

"We'll… ahem… owl you about a suitable time for an interview," Doggle went on, uncomfortably. "In the meantime…"

Price took a folded piece of parchment from his upper pocket, but did not hand it over. Instead he looked Harry straight in the eyes and took a deep breath as if about to do something that he really didn't want to. "I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said. "About your family."

Harry's heart sank a little. He'd never met Mr. Jenson's wife and child, of course, but, through the hundreds of stories he'd been told, he felt like he knew them a little. The knowledge of their existence, along with Harry's company, was what had kept Mark Jenson from falling completely into despair along with the other prisoners. In turn, talking to Mr Jenson about his family had reminded Harry of the outside world and kept him sane.

And during this war, 'bad news' could only mean one thing.

"Your son…" continued Mr. Price. "He was diagnosed with Muggle cancer two years ago. It was diagnosed very late, I understand… well. Your wife committed suicide not long after Jason died. I'm sorry."

He handed Harry the note. He read it, and felt his heart clench at the words.

_There's no reason left in the world, Mark, and so I leave it_.

"Very sorry," added Price.

Harry refolded the note and pocketed it. "Yeah." _Sorry Mark_, he thought. _So, so sorry._ He took a deep breath. "So what happens now?"

"Well," said Doggle. "Your house is still being held under your name – no relatives have come forward to claim it or sell it in your stead, and until you're officially classed as, ah, dead, the Ministry cannot seize it, ah, as such. We'll take care of that, of course, and you can go back to the house as soon as you need, pending further investigation."

"Further investigation?"

"Well, there'll have to be proof of identity and missing persons follow-up enquiry – I'm sure you're familiar with the procedure."

Harry blinked. "Oh. Of course, yes, it's just been a while, you know."

Doggle laughed. "Of course! Forgive me, sir."

"No problem."

"So, will you be returning to the house?" Miss Wyndam cut in.

Harry stared at her. "Yes," he said, eventually. "Yes, I will. As soon as possible. Now, in fact."

"Excellent!" said Mr. Doggle. "I'm sure you're reluctant to intrude on Professor Dumbledore's hospitality any further."

"Absolutely," said Harry. He stood, using the arms of the chair to steady himself while trying not to make it too obvious. "Shall we?"

"Ah, are there any possessions you want to…?" Price trailed off at the look on Harry's face. "Ah. Right. Of course. Follow us, sir."

oO0Oo

Beth sat through Potions without really listening to anything that was being said. It was lucky they weren't making anything in this lesson, because it seemed impossible for her to get last night's confrontation out of her mind. It was just so _frustrating _not to know more, and everywhere she looked there were further gaps to her knowledge about Mr. Jenson.

She'd seen him in the Entrance Hall after breakfast, coming in through the main doors with three Aurors. One of them was supporting him, which told her that maybe Mr. Jenson – or Mark, rather – wasn't quite as completely healed as he would have liked.

She was pondering the mystery of this when the bell rang, making her jump. No one moved, though, until Professor Snape finished speaking. "I expect all your essays to be on my desk next lesson," he drawled, not even looking up from his desk. It was the signal for everyone to throw their quills, parchment and ink into their bags and exit the classroom with all haste.

Beth followed them, but when everyone else went downstairs to the Great Hall and morning tea, she took a right and went upwards, struggling past the students from the upper levels who ran at her in the other direction.

"Where are you going?" someone shouted. She looked around to see Quin Weasley coming up the stairs behind her.

"None of your business," she snapped.

"Why are you so angry all the time?" he asked, getting level with her.

"Why do you ask such stupid questions?" she shot back, resuming her climb.

"You're going to see that Jenson fellow again, aren't you?" he called after her.

Shocked into momentary silence, she turned to stare at him. "How do _you _know about –"

"I followed you last night."

"What? I didn't see you!"

"Well, you wouldn't have."

People around them – mostly sixth and seventh year students – were starting to stare. Beth glowered at Quin before dragging him up the rest of the stairs and into an empty classroom. "All right, she said when the door was firmly shut and Quin was sitting cross-legged, quite cheekily, on one of the front desks. "What do you mean you followed me last night? _How _did you follow me? Actually, scratch that, start with _why_."

"It was an adventure, wasn't it?" said the boy, wearing an idiot grin. "Why shouldn't I follow you? You were breaking just as many rules as I was. To be honest, Bee, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Call me 'Bee' one more time and I'll show you just how much I have in me," Beth snapped.

"What's happened to you, Green?" Quin asked. "Three days ago you wouldn't have spoken to anyone even if they spoke to you first, now you're yelling at people, reading weird books and sneaking out at night to visit exotic strangers…"

Beth felt her skin redden, and folded her arms across her chest. "He's not _exotic_," she argued. "Besides, what were _you_doing wandering around at night? I know you weren't in the library when I left."

Quin rolled his eyes. "If you must know, I was going to steal food from the kitchens."

Beth stared. "Why?"

"Because. Why shouldn't I? It's fun. Besides it's easy – and it's not really stealing. The house elves load you up before you even ask, whether it's allowed or not."

"The house – whats?'

"House elves. Or castle elves in this case, I guess. There are hundreds of them."

Beth realised almost too late that she'd been steered away from the subject. "So, if you were going to the kitchens, why didn't you _keep _going there and not follow me all over the place?"

"Following you was far more interesting," Quin shrugged. "You didn't have to stop so suddenly, though."

"That was _you _that bumped into me? I thought it was Peeves!"

"How could it have been? He's made of like, air."

"He doesn't seem to have any trouble throwing things," grumbled Beth, feeling a little shivery at the thought that Quin had been right behind her the whole time she'd walked down that horribly spooky corridor.

"It _was _him that was laughing, though," the boy admitted. "Creeped me out no end."

Beth was about to say that it had scared her, too, until she remembered that she was angry. "And another thing," she said quickly, before she could be distracted any further. "How could I not see you?"

He smiled slyly and jumped off the desk to face her. "Take me with you next time and maybe I'll show you."

She could have punched him. He wanted in on her secret! Although she supposed that he already knew most of it, anyway. "Why on earth do you want to come?" she asked.

I'm insatiably curious. It's a terrible affliction I've had since early childhood."

"But why do you care so much about _this_? I bet Emily Lareston knows more stupid secrets than anyone in the whole school – go pester _her_ to share some."

"Come off it. Look, if you don't want me to come I'm going to follow you anyway, so you may as well let me."

Beth fingered her wand in her pocket. She considered hexing him, but with all the time he spent with the Ravenclaws, it was likely that he knew a few things she didn't. It was probably best not to risk it. "Fine," she said eventually. "But don't blame me if he gets mad and kicks us out." And, reluctantly, she filled him in on most of the events of the last few days.

"He seemed like quite a nice old fellow to me," said Quin when she had finished.

"I don't think he's that old, really," she said thoughtfully. "I think he just looks that way."

"Late thirties?" Quin suggested.

The bell rang. "Oh, horse manure!" Beth groaned. "Transfiguration's on fifth floor – now we'll catch it!"

"We don't have to," said Quin, going to the door. He turned back to her when she didn't follow. "Come on!"

Beth sighed. "I really hope you're not going to make me run up three flights of stairs. I don't run."

"Trust me," he said, grinning.

_Bastard_, Beth thought, but jogged after him out of the classroom and Quin took a sharp right – the opposite direction to the stairs. "Where are you going?" Beth panted as she plodded after him.

"Trust me!" he called back, for the second time.

_Why should I?_ Beth thought. She followed him anyway, past the statue of Madeline Mugwort the righteous, round the bend, up the corridor that was just a row of windows for no apparent reason whatsoever, past the portrait of Captain H. Biggle ("Avast!! Ye scurvy mongrels!"), through the archway at the end and then –

"It's a dead end, idiot!" Beth groaned, stopping to pant and rest her sweaty palms on her knees.

A huge mirror with an ornate oak frame stood proudly, if rather uselessly, at the end of the corridor. It looked almost ridiculous, since it almost didn't fit on the wall and no one, unless they got seriously lost, would ever be able to use it. Maybe it was a leftover mirror that had just got stuck in the most available place at the last minute.

"It'll take us twice as long to get there now," she complained, wiping her hands on her robes and trying to pretend the short jog hadn't nearly killed her.

"Half," Quin replied. He didn't look at her - he was feeling around the bottom of the mirror with both hands. "I've timed it."

"What are you talking –?"

There was a click, and Quin sprang back as the whole mirror swung upwards about five feet. Behind it was a very small alcove, just big enough for two third years to squeeze in. "Isn't it cool?" said Quin. "Everyone expects secret passages to hinge on the side."

"That's not a secret passage, that's a hole," Beth pointed out. "And you're so crazy if you think I'm getting in there with you."

"Look," said Quin. "Do you want to lose us fifty squillion points or what?"

"She'll give us ten each. Max."

"Well, do you want to lose them?"

"No."

"Then come _on_. This only works if you don't spend ages arguing about it."

Beth glared at him, but she stomped over to the opening and pressed up against the back wall. Quin got in behind her, reaching up a hand to pull down on a handle on the back of the mirror. It swung back down, leaving them in pitch darkness in the tiny space. Beth could feel Quin's breath on her face, sense his hands steadying him on either side of her. She wrapped her arms around her chest, just in case.

"What now?" she hissed.

"Fifth floor, Transfiguration," Quin whispered.

"What?"

"Just hold on."

Suddenly, the walls shuddered and Beth tilted forward with a gasp. There was a whooshing sound in her ears for the same small moment she felt like she was in an incredibly fast, diagonally-travelling lift. When, after what seemed like an eternity but what can't in reality have been more than three seconds, it came to a sudden halt, Beth thought she probably would have fallen over if there had been enough room.

Quin pushed on the front wall where the mirror had been, light flooded once more into the compartment, and they scrambled out. "I say," said the man in the portrait they'd just swung open. "Are you two quite finished? Bad form, movin' a fellow's frame around like that, doncha know."

"Sorry," said Quin, not very sincerely, shutting the portrait again with a soft thump.

Beth looked around, but barely had time to register her surroundings before Quin grabbed her arm and dragged her around the corner. There, not five feet in front of them, the last of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Transfiguration class were filing into the room past Professor McGonagall, who was ticking them off the register. Beth and Quin ran forward and joined the end of the queue. McGonagall looked disapprovingly at them as she marked their names, but did not say anything.

oO0Oo

There are things he doesn't remember.

The first time he rode a broom. His OWL scores. Why he has the words 'I must not tell lies' carved into the back of his hand in his own handwriting, scarcely visible.

He wishes he didn't remember the sound of Wormtail's hand as it splashed into the cauldron, or the high cold voice saying 'kill the spare', or the ever-repeating sight of Sirius falling as if in slow motion, through the veil.

The memories lurk in the back of his mind.

Waiting.

oO0Oo

6. Quin's Theme – Grow Up – Simple Plan


	10. More or Less an Adventure

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**10**

The Ravenclaw boys had saved a seat for Quin, of course. That left one remaining empty desk right at the front, and Beth resigned herself to sitting at it alone. To her surprise however, Quin sat next to her.

There wasn't any time to say anything about it because Professor McGonagall started outlining the task pretty much at once, and Quin appeared to be listening intently while taking notes with an expensive-looking self-inking quill, so she pulled some crumpled parchment from her bag and struggled to keep up.

They were supposed to turn sparrows into budgies. The explanation took about half an hour – it was somewhat delicate work, after all. No one, least of all Professor McGonagall, wanted exploded sparrow bits all over the place. Eventually though, the Professor handed out the caged sparrows, and the room slowly filled with soft chatter as they worked.

"Your friends are disappointed," Beth muttered to Quin, without looking at him. Quin glanced over his shoulder at the Ravenclaw boys, who were concentrating furiously on their sparrows as if they were still trying to look as though they hadn't been snubbed by some too-clever-for-his-own-good Gryffindor.

"Oh them," he said offhandedly. "They're not so much friends. They're horribly dull."

"I thought you said you liked smart people," Beth replied, watching her sparrow try to work out why it couldn't fly further than eight inches in any direction.

"No, I said I didn't like stupid people. Besides, why shouldn't I sit with you? I partner you in Potions, don't I?"

"We have potions with the Slytherins," Beth pointed out. "You hardly have much choice."

"Look, I'm sitting here with you because I _want_ to. Don't get your knickers all in a twist about it."

Beth was about to answer him with a suitably scathing remark about _his _knickers, but she could feel McGonagall looking at her from half across the room, so she returned her attention to her sparrow, who was now fluttering around its small cage agitatedly.

After five completely unsuccessful tries she threw down her wand and thumped her fists on her thighs in frustration. "This is stupid," she hissed to herself. Quin heard.

"What's the matter?" he asked. She could see that he hadn't even tried to magic his sparrow yet – because he knew he could do it on the first try and he didn't want to appear a swot. The fact that he always did this in nearly every class made him look like even more of a swot, never mind whether or not he noticed. "I thought you were good at Transfiguration."

"What are you, my stalker now?" Beth sighed. "If you must know, I'm fine with things like matchboxes and teacups and bananas, but not living things."

"Bananas are living things," Quin pointed out.

She glared. "Fine, but they can't think. They don't care whether they're bananas or not. And I can't helping thinking, what if they poor thing doesn't want to be a budgie? What if he's perfectly happy being a sparrow?" She sounded perfectly ridiculous but he _had _asked.

"What are you talking about?" he said, which she'd been expecting, but what she _hadn't_ been expecting was for him then to say: "Budgies are way better than sparrows!"

"What?"

"Well, they're much better looking, for a start. And you could make him a particularly handsome budgie so all the lady budgies like him better than all the real budgies, and he could lord it over all the ugly old sparrows who always picked on him for having fluffy feathers and high-pitched cheep."

Beth could not conceal a giggle. "You're mad," she told him.

"But I haven't a point, don't I? Go on, try it again."

"What if I mess up and he ends up half-sparrow, half-budgie? _All _the birds will make fun of him then."

"You won't mess it up," Quin assured her. "I'll do it with you, okay? Ready?"

She picked up her wand and focussed on the poor sparrow, who had stopped fluttering around and was now staring up at her interestedly. "Ready," she said, feeling oddly sure of herself.

"After three," Quin whispered. "One, two, three –"

They both said the incantation and flicked their wands upwards in near-perfect unison. Beth grinned in delight to find that she was no longer looking at a sparrow, but a bright yellow-and-green budgie with a long blue tail and a very surprised expression on its beak.

"Chrrp!" it warbled, then looked immensely please with itself. An answering "chrrp!" came from Beth's right, where Quin was now looking proudly at his own, now remarkably more colourful bird.

"He's beautiful," Beth congratulated him.

"She's a she," Quin corrected her with a wink.

"How do you know?"

"Well done, Miss Green, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall's voice from behind them, before Quin could answer. "Very impressive, both of you. Twenty points to Gryffindor."

At this, Beth could not resist a glance back at the Ravenclaw boys, who were looking very angry indeed.

"Poor things," said Beth, as she and Quin put away their notes, preparing to leave early. "They miss you."

"No they don't," Quin scoffed. "I bet they're glad to be shot of me. They're just mad that I helped you get points."

"_Are _they shot of you?" Beth asked.

"Well," said Quin with a shrug. "I thought maybe, since we're sharing all these secrets and all, maybe I'll just hang out with you for a bit. If it's okay."

Beth watched her budgie admire his plumage as well as he could. "You know what?" she said. "You're all right, Quinton Weasley."

"Thanks, Bee," he said, grinning. "You're quite all right yourself."

oO0Oo

"I don't feel well."

"You're awake?"

"I think so."

"You're probably all right, then."

"Seriously, I can't move my head."

"Oh. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"It might go away after a while."

"Has this ever happened to you?"

"Er, maybe. I can't remember."

"Hell. You've been in here a bloody long time, haven't you?"

"Must have been."

"You know, when we were in school, I would have laughed my head off if I knew this would happen to you."

"Well, you _were_ sort of horrible."

"Still am."

"Are you fishing for compliments?"

"No. Stating the truth. Ow."

"Can you move now?"

"Barely."

"Draco?"

"Ow. Yes?"

"… What am I going to do? About… you know. About Lestrange?"

"…Not think about it?"

"Bloody hell. She should have killed me first."

"Hey, I'm with you. Is this what you've been brooding about for weeks?"

"What do _you _think?"

"It might not have been, you know, _planned._"

"Don't be naïve. Voldemort had _in _on this. We might think he just lets the two of them get on with it, but _someone _has to talk to those bloody snakes so they bite when they're told. They don't speak English."

"This is somewhat more serious than the snakes, though."

"That's what I'm saying."

"I so can't come up with a solution right now. My head's banging."

"What happened?"

"I think I bumped it on the floor. I don't remember anyone doing anything specific to it."

"Oh, well thanks for getting me all worried for nothing."

"Never mind. I had two years in here before they kill me, and it can't be that much yet because it feels like five, so it can only be one and a half."

"Don't talk like that."

"Why not? We both know it's going to happen. I just accepted it a long time ago, that's all."

oO0Oo

"We've got fifteen minutes before lunch, still," said Quin when they finally stood outside the classroom. "Let's go see your Mr. Jenson."

Beth, despite her earlier admittance that Quin Weasley might not be so bad after all, still wasn't sure how comfortable she was with the idea of taking Quin to see Mark. Mark might get the wrong idea, he might think she was showcasing him for all her friends, he might not even want to see _her_, let alone this boy he'd never met. A nasty voice in the back of her mind reminded her of Quin's inane talent for charming almost everyone into liking him in about ten minutes, but she warned him anyway.

"If he doesn't want me there, I'll leave," he reasoned. "I'm not a snoop."

_Of course you're not_, Beth wanted to say, but didn't, because he wasn't really being mean, just stupid. "Fine," she said instead. "I don't suppose you have another shortcut down to the second floor?"

He shook his head. "Lazy."

"I am not. I just hate walking. Especially up and down stairs. Not as much as running, though. What about the thing we used to get up here? Can we use it to get down?"

Quin seemed to think about it for a moment, before he beckoned and led her back to the portrait from behind which they'd emerged not an hour earlier. "Open it," he said.

"Excuse me?" said the portrait, looking very disapprovingly down at them.

"I wasn't talking to you," said Quin.

Beth stuck her fingers behind the frame and tried to tug it away from the wall. When she felt that she'd spent enough energy on an apparently pointless task, she gave up. "It's stuck on."

"You can't get in except through the mirror," Quin explained. "It goes anywhere in the castle, but there's only that one way in. Well, there's supposed to be two entrances, but I've never found the other one. I think it'll be something stupid – I mean, the mirror's pretty obvious, isn't it? Hunking great mirror on a dead end? But I think it's one of those things where you can't find it unless you already know where it is."

Beth thought about that. "How did _you_ find the mirror then?" she asked.

Quin shrugged. "Someone told me."

"Who?"

"One of my cousins. I don't which. They all tell me stuff, I dunno."

To Beth's disappointment, they started to walk towards the stairs. "How many cousins do you have?" she asked, to take her mind off it.

"Twenty-six," he said. "Mostly second cousins, though."

"Wow."

"Yeah. I'm lucky to be the only Weasley at Hogwarts – there's usually at least two – actually, now I think about it, it was probably Fred or George that told me about the mirror. They run the joke shop on Diagon Ally, you know?"

"Isn't that shut down?"

"Yeah, because of the war. I don't know much about it, though."

"Oh."

It took a good seven minutes to reach the second floor and another two to walk all the way along to the Gryffindor Room where Mr. Jenson lived.

"Okay," said Beth, putting one hand on the handle. "Ready?"

Quin nodded. He finally looked a bit nervous, which made Beth feel in control for the first time since she'd magicked her sparrow. Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened the door.

oO0Oo

Harry opened the door to Mark Jenson's house with a sinking heart. The hallway was dark and lined with cobwebs, the pictures on the walls completely obscured by dust. A shiver ran up his spine. The man standing beside him made a disgusted noise. "Are you sure you're all right to stay here tonight, Mr. Jenson?" he asked.

Harry wasn't too clear on what the man's job was – he seemed to be some kind of estate agent. "Yes, thank you," Harry said.

"Very well," said the man, as if to say _rather you than me_. "You _will _check in with the hospital tomorrow, won't you?" You don't look well."

I don't feel well, he thought. He waited until the man had walked back up the overgrown path to the gate and Disapparated before he turned back into the house and shut the door.

He felt he owned it to Mr. Jenson to at least save some of the things in the house, especially since he'd taken on the poor man's identity without asking. He supposed he wasn't much better than Barty Crouch in that respect.

That might have to wait, however. First the whole place needed cleaning, and for that he'd need a wand, or at least some hired help. He needed money. He tried to think what would have happened to his money – or rather, to all his things. He'd had a will, hadn't he? Yes, Dumbledore had helped him write it as soon as he turned seventeen – 'just in case'. That had been a fun afternoon. What had he written in it?

There were things he knew he had forgotten. Saying goodbye to Ron at the rock-fall could _not _have been the end of what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. He vaguely recalled getting some kind of award for what had happened…

He strained his mind. Darkness flooded in on all sides as it always did when he tried to remember the things Ynys Addoed had stolen from him. The things Lestrange had stolen from him.

_Come on_, he whispered inwardly. _You're in the light, now. Remember._

He remembered Hedwig.

He stumbled, and found himself suddenly kneeling on the dusty wooden floor of the hall. Hedwig.

The memories of her resurfaced one by one, slicing into his brain like dull knives. He clapped his hands to his ears as if he could slow the tide, but it didn't work – he'd begged for these memories as he sat in the dark, waiting for them to return, and now they assaulted him with all their fury.

He cried out.

oO0Oo

At first glance, the Gryffindor room appeared to be empty, even unused. The bed was perfectly made, the curtains were pulled shut over the window, there were no clothes or possessions in sight. It was dark and creepy, and Beth had a tickly feeling on the back of her neck.

"Where is he?" Quin asked loudly.

"Shh," Beth hissed. "He's not here, let's go."

Quin didn't move. "He can't still be with those Aurors, can he?" he said. "That was ages ago."

Suddenly, Beth saw something. A silvery flicker caught her eye, and she was sure she'd caught a glimpse of movement from behind the bed.

"Hello?" she called, cautiously. "Mr. Je – er, Mark?"

"Fraid not," said a voice, making both of them jump. A ghost walked out from behind the post, arms folded across his chest.

It wasn't like any ghost Beth had ever seen. He was quite young – or at least, had been when he died – perhaps in his early twenties. He was wearing an open Muggle shirt and trousers, both sporting several holes and tears. His boots looked well-made, and intact. The buttons glinted.

His hair was streaked with the same silvery substance that permanently stained the Bloody Baron, and some of it made rivulets down his arms and between his fingers. But the way he stood, and the way he stared at them defiantly, made him seem as though he was the sort of ghost who wasn't _supposed _to be dead. It was very hard to get her head around this concept.

"What are you staring at?" asked the ghost.

"You," said Quin. "Who are you?"

"Who are _you_?" the ghost retorted.

"I'm Quinton Weasley and this is Beth Green," Quin answered, ignoring Beth's elbow digging into his side.

"A Weasley," the ghost sneered. "I should have known. You're not Ron Weasley's brother or son or anything like that, are you?"

"Ron's my second cousin," Quin replied, just as haughtily. "My father's Xavier Weasley, you know, he owns Xavier Quills. Who's yours?"

The ghost looked slightly taken-aback by this, but recovered quickly. "Nice try," he said, raising one eyebrow. He looked at Beth. "You were here before."

"Yes," said Beth, before Quin could get even more pompous. "Do you know where Mr. Jenson is, sir?"

"No idea," said the ghost, looking suddenly annoyed. "I'll catch up with him before long if he goes too far, though. Nice of him to tell me he was going to be gone for hours."

"Why did he leave?"

"He _said _he was going flying. It seemed like a pretty stupid idea to me, but he never listens to me."

"You know him?" Beth asked.

"Of course. I'd like to have seen him get here without me, put it that way."

"But how did he get _out_?" she cried in desperation.

The ghost laughed. "Out the door, I think. Why?"

"But it was locked!" Beth argued, before her heart sank suddenly into her stomach. "Oh no! I didn't lock it again last night after I left!"

"Well done, Miss Green," the ghost mocked her, sounding so much like Professor Snape that Beth shuddered.

"Leave her alone," Quin snapped. "You still haven't told us who you are, anyway."

"Probably because you're both do-gooder Gryffindors who poke their noses into things that are none of their business," said the ghost, coldly. He turned his head to look out of the window. "Where _is _he?"

"Maybe he _is_ still with those Aurors," Quin said to Beth.

"What?" said the ghost.

"Let's go," said Quin, grabbing Beth's arm.

"Wait!" the ghost yelled after them. "What about Aurors?"

"Why should we tell you?" sniffed Quin. "We're just do-gooder Gryffindors, right?"

The ghost sighed. "Fine," he said. "I take it back."

"No," said Quin. "Tell us who you are."

The ghost rolled his eyes. "I'm Harry Potter."

Silence.

"No you're not," said Quin.

"Your look-out if you don't believe me," shrugged the ghost. "Your information now, if you please."

Quin glared. "We saw Mr. Jenson in the Entrance Hall with three Aurors, ok? Maybe an hour ago. That's it. Now tell us the truth."

"Sorry," said the ghost. "Got another appointment." He grinned, gave them a flippant three-fingered salute, and whooshed upwards and through the ceiling. The two students stared after him.

"Let's get out of here," said Quin.

oO0Oo

7. Making Budgies – I Like Birds - Eels


	11. Girls and Boys

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Hi guys. Thanks so much for being so patient with me during the grand re-typing extravaganza. I haven't completely reread this chapter yet, but I thought you'd like a chapter regardless, so you can have it now.  Thanks again!

**STILL ALIVE**

**11**

"He's _not,_" Quin insisted.

"But what if he is?" Beth argued for what must have been the seven hundredth time.

They were lounging around on some of the big chairs in the Gryffindor common room. Most of the senior students that usually occupied these chairs had already gone to bed, so it was a rare chance to experience such a comfort. Neither of them were paying much attention to it, though. They were far too busy arguing about the ghost they'd found in Mr. Jenson's room that morning. There hadn't been much time to talk about it until now.

"He's _not _Harry Potter," Quin repeated. "Look, some of my cousins were really good friends with him, ok? I've seen pictures. That ghost looked nothing like him."

"Everyone's seen pictures, idiot," Beth replied. "He takes up half a chapter in _The Rise and Fall of Dark Lords Through the Ages_. Not that he really deserves it."

Quin's head snapped round to look at her. "What?"

"Well, he didn't really do that much, did he? He defeated You-Know-Who when he was a baby, okay. But no one knows _how _he did it, and then You-Know-Who killed him when he wasn't even out of school, so he can't have defeated him properly in the first place."

Quin continued to stare at her as if she'd grown an extra head. "_Don't _talk like that around any of the teachers," he hissed. "I saw Professor Sprout take _fifty points _away from someone in her _own house _for saying that Potter should've tried harder to kill You-Know-Who while he had the chance and then the war would have been over years ago."

"A Hufflepuff said that? I wouldn't say _that_."

"Good."

"Can I ask you something?"

"If it's an attempt to change the subject, then no."

"Why did you start going all off about your father, when that ghost spoke to you? You've never been like that before."

"Like what?"

"All… Slytherin."

"Pureblooded bigot, you mean?"

"Well…"

"I know his type. Doesn't think you're worth looking at unless you've got a last name to turn a few heads and a family that's worth money. The Weasleys didn't used to be, either."

"Oh?"

"Until Harry Potter left nearly all his money to my dad's cousin's family."

Beth looked up at Quin, who was now glaring at her defiantly as if daring her to say another word against Potter. "Oh, fine," she said. "I see what you mean."

"And that's why I_ know_ that ghost wasn't Harry Potter. My cousin Ron was his best friend. I'm going to get to the bottom of this, you watch."

"This doesn't even have anything to do with Mr. Jenson anymore, does it?"

"No. It's that bloody ghost. You don't just go around saying you're Harry Potter, _even _as a joke. It's not done. Especially after some Death Eater bastard marched into the school pretending to be him and got everyone's hopes up before killing one of the Professors and then falling down dead."

"I remember," said Beth. "The summer before we started school. I hadn't even _heard_ of Harry Potter before the first day and I knew all about him by the end of the week."

There was silence for a minute, broken only by Quin thumbing furiously through the large book he'd walked in with earlier.

"What is that?" Beth asked eventually.

"Daily Prophet," he replied, his nose only inches from the pages as he turned. "August 2001 to March 2002."

"They have that in the library?"

"Yep." He stopped at a page near the end of the book. "Here," he said, and held it up for her to see.

The picture showed a young man in Hogwarts robes. He had black hair that seemed to stand up all over the place, and he wore thick-rimmed glasses. A Quidditch Captain's badge twinkled on his chest as he grinned sheepishly and folded his arms across his chest. "That's him?"

"That's him."

Beth stared. She must have seen pictures before, she _must _have… but this one looked familiar. There was something about the eyes… "It's not the ghost," she decided.

"Told you."

"What's not a ghost?"

They both jumped and looked around. William Ross was standing at the bottom of the boy's staircase, wearing a T-shirt and jeans that made him look even skinnier than usual.

"Nothing," said Quin, not a little irritably, shutting the _Daily Prophet_ archive with a snap.

"Okay," said William, with a shrug. "I just came down to get my book." Looking genuinely uninterested he crossed to the fire, where _Julian Fischer_ sat innocently on the mantelpiece. Taking it, he turned back to the staircase, but not before remarking to Beth: "Um, hey, well done in Transfiguration today. It was really cool."

"Thanks," said Beth, surprised.

"Yeah. Too bad they have to be turned back, right?"

Beth stared at him. "What?"

"The birds. Professor McGonagall turns them back before every class, and there's still the Hufflepuff-Slytherin class to go yet. Shame." He glanced at Quin, with perhaps just a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Well. See you."

"Bye," said Beth, waiting till he'd climbed the stairs and closed the door to the dormitory. Then she rounded on Quin. "I can't _believe _you!" she hissed. "The _only _reason I did that spell was because you fed me all that rubbish about the stupid bird being happier… I can't believe I fell for that."

"Beth, I didn't even know, all right?"

"I made such an _idiot _of myself… what?"

"I didn't know about McGonagall changing the birds back." The look on Quin's face told Beth what a complete idiot she was being. "But…" now there was a wicked look in his eye, which Beth was unfortunately already acquainted with. "Well, how about it?"

"How about what?" she snapped, till annoyed.

"Stealing the birds," said Quin, as if she should have assumed this from the start. "Then we can set them free, if you want."

"What – you – you're not the least bit interested in animal welfare, you just want to go off and do something stupid, besides, we _can't _steal them."

"Why not?"

"Be_cause_. I don't steal, and what if you get caught?

"What if _we _get caught, you mean. And we won't."

"Why not?"

Quin grinned insatiably. "I'll show you. Wait a minute." He practically galloped up the stairs to the dormitory.

"Wait!" she called after him. "What are you doing?"

"I have to fetch something," he replied, leaning jauntily over the banister.

"You can't," she hissed. "William will be in there and he'll ask what you're doing."

Quin hesitated. He seemed to mull it over for a minute before turning and carefully opening the door to his dormitory. Beth sat back down, swinging her feet nervously. Bloody Quin Weasley.

She'd met him for the first time in the Great Hall before the Sorting, and he'd hardly spoken a word to her since, except something along the lines of "pass the Billywig stings, please." He got ridiculously high marks without even trying, and before today all those Ravenclaws had clung to him like shadows in the hope of finding out how he did it. He went looking for trouble and didn't try to deny it, either.

Quin came out of the dormitory with a bag over one shoulder, a silvery cloak over the other arm, and right behind him came… William Ross.

"What are you _doing_?" she hissed.

"Asked him to come with us," Quin shrugged. "Could always use another pair of eyes."

"You're insane."

"Probably."

The cloak caught her eye before she noticed that William was staring at it too. "Is that… an invisibility cloak?" she breathed.

"Yep," said Quin. "Another reason I know so much about Harry Potter."

"It's not _his _cloak, is it?" William asked.

"Course it is," said Quin, grinning. "It was in his will. The oldest Weasley to attend Hogwarts should always have his cloak. I got it early, because my cousin Ginny didn't want it – she was in seventh year the year before we started."

Beth touched the cloak. It slid softly between her fingers, like liquid made cloth. "It's beautiful." She didn't see Quin and William exchange glances. _Girls_.

"And this," Quin continued, tossing the cloak onto the sofa, out of Beth's reach. "Is my other little friend." The other two looked at the plain-looking canvas bag he held. It was medium-sized, dark-red in colour with thin drawstrings. It was also quite obviously empty.

"Er… what is it?" asked William.

Quin tugged open the drawstrings and thrust his arm inside the bag. "It's called a Reversible-Revealable bag," he said. "They were going to start selling it at Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes a day or so after they shut down – big disappointment. They'll be out in force once it starts up again, but right now there are only a few people that know about them." He grabbed the bottom of the bag with his fingers and, with a flourish, turned it inside out. Now, with the blue inner lining on the outside, its contents bulged.

William's smile was surprising. It made him look much younger. Beth realised that when he wasn't smiling, he looked quite a lot older than thirteen, and acted it too. Maybe that was the reason why she and so many other students regarded him as… strange. "It's full," he said.

"Yep," said Quin. "Let's go."

"Wait!" Beth called as her new friend clambered through the portrait hole. "What's in it?"

oO0Oo

If Draco Malfoy knew what a vacuum cleaner was, that would probably have been how he would have described this feeling. Technically of course, he had no feeling. But although he couldn't feel pain, which was a welcome perk of being dead, he had observed during the last few months that he could be as afraid, as sad, as joyful or as angry as ever he had been. The strong sense of annoyance that ran through him now as he was dragged from the brightly-lit Gryffindor guest room to somewhere dark and cold-looking, was particularly reminiscent of how he'd felt for the majority of the time when he'd been alive.

Since he had never had the urge to investigate the concept of the vacuum, Draco was at a loss to describe how it felt when he was shoved through a gap in reality – sort of like side-along apparition but far more uncomfortable – and twisted around so that when he eventually found his bearings, he was facing quite a different scene than the one he'd just left.

It was dark here – dark compared to the candle-lit room in the school – and it was outside. It took him a little longer to see the high walls of the buildings all around, the bins, the pile of empty bottles in the corner, and the huddled figure lying curled up on the ground.

Draco sighed, floating on his stomach, he descended gently until his eyes were level with the man. "Harry?" Green eyes opened blearily. He coughed. "Where the hell have you been?" Draco hissed. The coughing continued. "Harry?"

The man half sat-up. "Went for a walk," he croaked. He eyes flickered momentarily towards the building behind them. Draco turned to look at it properly. The fading sign over the back door read '_Benny's_'. He could hear laughter issuing from inside. He sniffed, glad his nose no longer worked. "A bar. Let me guess, they threw you out?"

"Dunno why," Harry muttered, leaning on one elbow and rubbing his forehead with the other hand.

"I don't suppose you might have had a few drinks and then maybe mentioned magic, or Hogwarts, or Quidditch – wait, how did you even pay for drinks, or is _that _why they threw you out? Hey – what are you doing?"

Harry was breathing heavily, clutching at his head. Before Draco could say or do anything else, Harry screamed and doubled over in pain. "What the hell, you nutcase!" Draco yelled.

"He knows," Harry said through gritted teeth, so quietly Draco almost didn't hear him.

"What?"

"He knows. About me. That I'm gone."

Draco frowned. "Took long enough, didn't it? I thought the Lestranges would have blabbed long before this – _especially _Bellatrix."

"No," said Harry, still pressing his hands to his forehead. "She wouldn't tell."

"Are you kidding?"

"She wouldn't tell. Rodulphus or… or Malfoy. _He _would tell." He breathed deeply into his knees. "I was hoping for more time. They didn't _have _to tell him. They don't need me anymore, and it's not like he ever came to gawk at me. It could only have got them in fatal trouble… he's… he's angry. More angry than I've ever…"

They looked at each other, knowing the unspoken answer. It was different now, everything was different. The last four years were no longer a reliable indicator of what Voldemort or any of his followers would do.

"It doesn't matter," said Draco. "Like you said, he doesn't need you anymore. He might not even come after you, not for a while yet."

Harry sighed, lowering his hands. "Yeah."

Draco rose in the air, looking around. "Where are we?"

"Cambridge. Mr. Jenson lived here. The Aurors took me to his house." Harry staggered to his feet. "Come on."

"You really are drunk, aren't you?"

"No." He swayed.

Draco sighed. It looked as though he had to prepare himself for a long, long night.

oO0Oo

With three of them under the cloak, it took a long time to manoeuvre themselves down to the third floor. Quin stood in the middle because he was the tallest, but Beth couldn't help thinking that she was taking up more room than she ought. Eventually, however, they arrived in front of McGonagall's office.

"What now?" Beth whispered.

"Shut up," Quin hissed back. He slipped out from under the cloak and rummaged carefully in the Reversible-Revealable Bag. He pulled out what looked like a very short telescope.

"What's that?" William whispered.

"A Mad-Eye-Scope," said Quin. "Never on the shelves."

He pressed it to the wooden door. "She's not in there."

"Good," said Beth. "Any idea how we get in?"

Quin smiled confidently. "Felucio!" he announced to the door and turned the handle. It opened. William breathed out sharply in astonishment. Beth shrugged when he met her eye. "He does this a lot," she explained.

"And you don't?"

"No, I just got roped into it this morning."

"Come on!" called Quin from inside the room.

"Shh!" Beth hissed, following him and pulling William after her with the cloak.

"Give over, there's no one here," said Quin. "Look, where d'you think she keeps twenty odd birds around?"

Beth looked around. She'd been in here before, that time when Snape was determined to get her in trouble for something she hadn't done. There were a lot of cats. Moving cat portraits stretched and miaowed from the walls along with china cat figurines and cat-shaped bookends. The office was neat and uncluttered, and there was no sign of any additional storage space where a number of sparrows-turned-budgies could be kept.

"Great plan, Quinton," Beth mocked.

"Here," said William. They both turned to look at him. He had his hand pressed against the wall, right next to the largest painting. The large tabby cat yawned and stretched against the frame.

"What?" asked Quin.

"William knocked on the wall. "See," he said. "Hollow."

"How did you know?" asked Beth. William only shrugged. Quin was too excited to care, and bent to examine the painting. Beth stood back and watched William carefully. He ignored her, apparently very interested in Quin's endeavours.

"Okay," said Quin, standing up. "I've done my bit. Quick round of 'guess the password', anyone?"

"_Feline_?" tried William, using the Latin 'felinay'.

"Hah-hah," said Beth. "Try 'Gryffindor Rules'."

The cat mewed, the portrait swung open.

"You're kidding!" Quin gasped. "That's the stupidest password I've –"

"Jackpot!" William gasped. The space behind the portrait contained a huge variety of Transfiguration supplies, including a pile of matchboxes, a box labelled 'beetles', extra copies of _Transfiguration for Beginners_, _Intermediate Transfiguration _and _NEWT Transfiguration, _a cage full of guinea-pigs and, right at the back, a bird-cage. Sparrows and budgies fluttered around within it, some looking fairly confused because they were suddenly bright pink or covered in white fluff.

Quin reached in and took the cage, and closed the portrait before Beth could decide to take the guinea-pigs, too.

"Let's get out of here," he said, grabbing the discarded invisibility cloak. William and Beth risked a quick glance at each other before following.

They were halfway down the corridor, when, hearing voices, they froze. The sound was coming from Professor Granger's office, less than 3 metres ahead of them. Hurriedly Quin grabbed his bag again and drew out a packet of Extendable Ears, something Beth, at least, finally recognised. He nudged them towards the door and stepped a few paces backwards, urging the others to follow him, before allowing them to lower their ears to the thin pinkish thread.

"He's gone?" Professor Granger was saying. "Just like that?"

"We had no right to keep him at Hogwarts, I suppose." It was Professor McGonagall's voice – Quin swore under his breath. "It's an Auror matter, after all."

"But he came _here_, didn't he?" Granger argued. "He must have come here for a reason."

Quin and Beth looked at each other. "Mr Jenson," Beth whispered, forgetting that William was standing right beside her and could hear her quite clearly.

"Because Draco Malfoy went to school here," said McGonagall. "Malfoy must have told Jenson that, should he ever escape, Hogwarts would be the place to come… he might have mentioned Albus or Severus."

"It has to be more than that. And something else – the man should be immobile. After four years of torture and all those wounds, plus the relapse from the Restorative Potion – but yesterday he wasn't even wincing."

"The Aurors seemed satisfied with his answers."

"Well, I'm not. Not after last time."

There was a pause. Then McGonagall broke the silence. "It's out of our hands, Hermione. There's little point in worrying."

Professor Granger sighed. "Maybe it's the Malfoy thing that's bugging me. Draco Malfoy – dead? And killed by Death Eaters? Everyone, even Dumbledore, was convinced he was as crooked as his father, and… I don't know, maybe I expected him to be around forever, just like Lucius. It's too odd."

Something suddenly clicked in Beth's mind. She gasped, and suddenly found Quin's hand over her mouth.

"I mean, how do we know he's not just lying about the whole thing? No one's given him Veritaserum, have they?"

"They'll do that at a formal inquest, if it comes to that."

"Will how long will that take?"

"A month, perhaps two. Anyway, it's another name on the monument, no matter whose monument it is," said McGonagall, gravely, then after a moment, "how are the Weasleys?"

"Same."

"And you?"

"I'll be fine. I wish I could say it gets easier every year."

"This way," hissed Quin. Reluctantly Beth followed as the taller boy turned them around and, clutching the handle of the bird-cage, led them back past McGonagall's office and up the other staircase in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.

"Donald O'Donald," said Quin when they reach the Fat Lady, panting and clutching at their chests.

"Morning, Mr. Weasley," said the portrait, swinging open. They all tumbled inside, barely managing to stop the cage flying over.

"The ghost!" Beth exclaimed as soon as William pulled the cloak off her. "It's one of the Malfoys!"

"The youngest," Quin agreed darkly. "He disappeared two years ago. He was a Death Eater."

"But he can't be, if he was friends with Mr. Jenson," said Beth.

"Or we were wrong about Jenson."

Beth ignored him. "When I was hiding in the hospital wing, Mr. Jenson said Draco Malfoy was in the cells with him and that he had died. Malfoy must have helped him escape."

"Or tried to stop him," countered Quin, apparently determined to argue with everything she said. She glared at him, and in the brief moment of silence they both remembered the third person who stood in the common room with them.

William stood by the portrait hole with the cloak folded over one arm, watching them with an amused, but very interested expression on his face. Quin put the bird-cage down on a table, causing the birds within it to twister agitatedly, and held out his hand for his cloak. William gave it to him. This seemed to decide something between the two of them. Quin turned back to Beth, grinning. "So, do you want to explain, or shall I?"

Beth signed and flopped down into an armchair, vaguely wondering what time it was. _Boys_.

oO0Oo

It's always the same dream.

He's standing by the lake, in the same clothes he was wearing the day he died – his newest set of school robes over jeans and a white shirt, a red scarf hung loosely around his neck in case of a sudden onset of colder weather. His black hair whips around in the wind and he raises a hand to brush them away from his glasses. In doing so he sees her out of the corner of his eye.

When he turns to look at her, there's something wrong with his face. He seems somehow a lot older than he was when she saw him last. He smiles at her.

"Hi, Ginny," he says. "How are you?"

"Where are you, Harry?" she asks him.

He doesn't answer.

oO0Oo

oO0Oo

8. Bar Scene – Feel Like Flying - Racoon


	12. Call to Arms

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**STILL ALIVE**

**12**

Harry woke up like the smashing of a china plate. For the third time in four days, he was lying in an unfamiliar bed, but what occupied his mind that moment was the hammer that was drumming repeatedly on the back of his brain. He sat up, wincing, taking in the dark, dusty surroundings and realising slowly that he was in Mr. Jenson's bedroom. Or rather, Olivia Jenson's bedroom.

He could feel the dust on his face and arms. Shivering a little, he pushed the duvet aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His head continued to insist that movement was a bad idea, but he was used to his body hating him. He ignored it.

"Morning." He looked up. Draco was lounging comfortably on top of the wardrobe. Vague trickles of recent memory started to return. He groaned. "Nice place you've got here," the ghost continued, looking around. "Real aura of spookiness. I could haunt this, easy."

"It might already _be _haunted," Harry muttered. "Mrs. Jenson and her son died here."

"Oh."

Harry looked down at himself, realising he was still wearing the T-shirt and jeans that Hermione had lent him. Suddenly he felt sick. The headache faded away to be replaced by a moment of total dizziness and confusion. His arm ached, the burn-mark on his side stung. His right hand twinged painfully and he hissed, pulling it towards him and cradling the hand with its remaining three fingers to his chest.

Gasping, he staggered to his feet and found himself faced with a mirror. Reaching up with his good hand, he wiped away some of the thick layer of dust.

"Your scar's back," Draco said from behind him. "I saw it, last night."

The scar wasn't what Harry was looking for. He stared at his reflection, trying to pinpoint the source of the pain. There was none.

"Raging hangover?" Draco suggested. "There's a Potion for that, I think."

"Didn't drink anything," Harry argued. Suddenly there was a fire in his stomach. He ran out into the corridor and headed for the bathroom, leaving Draco behind him. He threw up violently into the sink, holding himself up by the basin. His vision blurring, he fumbled in the cabinet for the bottle he'd put there the night before.

A gulp of the liquid inside was warm and sweet, and it spread relief throughout his entire body. His breathing eased and the pain faded away. His legs strengthened. He turned on the tap and cupped his hands under it, splashing water onto his face to wash away the sweat. _That was close. Too close._

In the bedroom, Draco listened to the unhealthy sound of vomiting and chuckled. Trust Harry to go out and get drunk his first night of freedom. Floating over the window he saw that it was still dark, but there were Muggle cars moving slowly down the street, and lights flickering on in windows of the surrounding houses.

oO0Oo

_Dear Mr. Jenson._

_I know it's none of my business, but I thought you might like to know that Professor Granger is pretty suspicious of you. I overheard her and Professor McGonagall – our Head of House - talking. I'm really sorry, but I had to tell two more people about you – two boys from my year. Believe me, this was not my fault, they're just nosy gits, really. _

_I hope you're okay. I hope the owls can find you – I guess you went home, but no one, even the teachers, seems to know where that is. I met your friend Malfoy. He is your friend, isn't he? Only my friend Quin reckons he's after you, and warns you to look out, although I don't think ghosts can do any real damage, can they?_

_Let me know if you need help. You probably think I'm just a silly girl, but I really want to be useful. Anyway… good luck, wherever you are._

_Beth Green._

oO0Oo

She handed the letter to Quin, who read it, and passed it to William. William made a face. "Can you take out the part about me being a nosy git? All I wanted to do was fetch my book."

Beth looked a Quin, who shrugged. "It's fair."

"Good," she said, ignoring William's grimace. She folded the parchment and slipped into an envelope, and the large, intelligent-looking barn owl held out its leg obligingly.

"Please try and find him," said Beth, as she tied the envelope to its leg.

"Why do none of us own an owl?" Quin wondered, leaning back against the white-stained stone wall of the owlery. "We wouldn't have to come all the way up here, then."

"They're expensive," William pointed out. "Besides, I'm not that keen on birds. Except to eat."

The owl hooted at him haughtily and flew off. "How come you were so ready to do the bird-saving expedition last week, then?" asked Quin as they started the walk back to the Great Hall, and breakfast.

"Insignificant exception."

"And now you've made me hungry. I need pancakes. And sugar, lots of sugar."

"No sugar for you. We have Potions first."

"Come off it! I'll need the sugar to keep me awake."

"You'll knock something over – something big or poisonous."

"When have I _ever _knocked something over in Potions?"

_What are we? _Beth wondered as she followed the two boys down the stairs. Last week we'd hardly spoken to each other, now they're talking like they've been friends for years. _And_ me. No wonder half the school is staring at us.

Releasing McGonagall's birds had taken until nearly two in the morning, after which they'd brainstormed ideas about Mr. Jenson for another hour. Beth had to concede that the name 'Malfoy' was not what one would associate with Light-side rescue missions, but refused to accept that the haughty ghost had been trying to get Mr. Jenson recaptured, because Mr. Jenson had said that they were friends.

She'd been quizzed rather intensively on exactly what she'd heard when hiding in the hospital-wing wardrobe and had told Quin and William everything as best as she could remember. _Why_ she told them, she didn't know. Quin Weasley was obnoxious and cheeky, and William Ross was a weed. A nice weed, though. And Quin could be agreeable too, like in Transfiguration. And they both kept surprising her, and she was getting almost used to it.

It was sort of nice.

Since that adventure, they'd gravitated towards each other in classes, surprising both their teachers and their classmates. To be fair, neither Beth nor William had actually being aiming for this; the whole affair was orchestrated by Quin, who had developed an annoying yet somewhat amusing habit of grabbing them both by the arm and dragging them to a spare desk. William had even started talking in ore than one sentence at a time. Beth found herself spending more and more time in the common room and less and less time in the company of her dorm-mates, for which she was most thankful.

Life at Hogwarts seemed to have changed for the better, thanks to Mr. Jenson.

oO0Oo

The week seemed to have passed in a blur. Harry had had two more visits from Aurors, intent on asking him increasingly difficult and painful questions. They also asked plenty of questions about his life prior to his capture, but luckily he had found a drawer containing most of the relevant information, in the form of birth certificates, school reports (Derbyshire Institution of Wizardry), Auror conscription records, and photographs. Harry spent many hours going through these. Like Draco when he'd been alive, Harry had never seen Mark Jenson, just heard his voice through the wall of his cell.

Mark was a thin, dark-haired man on of ordinary height – which explained why there weren't too many qualms about Harry's impersonation of him. His wife was small and blonde, and their little boy looked just like his father. Some of the pictures were blotchy in places, as if they'd been cried over and stained, but the happy couple and the cheerful infant waved cheerily on.

The Ministry, although Harry realised that his existence was not widely known about as yet, sent a couple of House Elves to clean the derelict property. The Elves were named Midge and Polly, and they had the entire house spotless in less than a day. Harry liked them very much – it was nice to have someone to talk to except Draco, who, now free to do as he liked as long as he didn't stay too far away from Harry for too long, was starting to fully discover the advantages of being a ghost.

"Are you sure you're not a Poltergeist?" Harry asked him, after his friend had burst out of a kitchen cupboard when he reached in for the teabags, causing him to drop a mug and scare Polly out of her mind.

"I don't think so," said Draco, hovering over the poor Elf as she tried to sweep up the mess with a broom that was much too big for her. "What's the difference?"

"Ghosts mope around," said Harry. "Poltergeists constantly act like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Polly, let me do that."

"No, Mr. Mark, sir!" the elf squeaked. Harry had eventually gotten the two to stop calling him 'Master Jenson.' "It is Polly and Midge's job to look after Mr. Mark, sir!"

"Yes, well it's not your fault that having to look after me in a haunted house wasn't in the job description," said Harry, taking the broom.

He'd been given some money – not much, but once they were apparently fairly certain of his identity as Mark Jenson the emergency-Auror, the Ministry decided he probably should be compensated for being caught and tortured in the line of duty, which in Draco's rather sarcastic words was 'pretty thoughtful of them, don't you think?' It was at least enough to provide food on a temporary basis, and some new clothes, since he couldn't bring himself to wear any of the old things still hanging in the wardrobe upstairs. He'd taken enough of Mark Jenson's life already. It was the first time he'd ever bought clothes for himself, and he spent a good fifteen minutes staring through windows of the High Street by the house, before actually daring to go in any of them. As a result of the ordeal, however, he had, for the first time in his life, Muggle clothes that almost fitted him. The shirts were a little baggy on his near-skeletal frame, but he overlooked this small detail with the help of some newly acquired blind optimism.

All he didn't have were his glasses and a wand. He hadn't the faintest idea where he was to get either of these things, since he wasn't even sure where he was, let alone where he could find the nearest opticians, and he couldn't even get to London, let alone Ollivander's. He could manage, however, so long as no one asked him to operate any heavy machinery.

The sunlight was like a drug. It scared him, but he wanted to stand in it, to walk in it, to let it soak into his pale skin and warm him from the inside. Lucky it was March and there was very little chance of getting burned from the minimal rays the sun emitted. He ate slowly but steadily, relishing every morsel of food and drink.

A St. Mungo's Healer was his only other visitor. The man had been given a copy of Madam Pomfrey's notes, and after a thorough examination and a redressing of the still-healing wound where his little finger used to be, he had left with a thoughtful frown. Harry waved him off with his left hand. Let the man wonder why he was recovering so quickly; Harry was content to enjoy the benefits.

The owl arrived in the afternoon, when he was half-dozing at the kitchen table. "Who would be writing to you?" Draco mocked from his current upside-down position on the ceiling.

The owl had a Hogwarts insignia tag on its left leg, and for a brief second, Harry thought it might be from Hermione, but the handwriting on the envelope wasn't hers. "No idea," he said, flipping it open. His eyes skipped immediately to the name at the bottom. "It's from Beth."

"Who?"

"The midnight visitor."

"Ah, the shy young Gryffindor."

Harry looked up from the letter. "She says she met you."

"Oh yes, did I not mention? Charming young conversationalists, the both of them."

"Well why didn't you _tell _me?" Harry growled.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was too busy dragging you out of the gutter. Besides, it wasn't worth mentioning. Incidentally, is the girl related to Granger? Because the boy actually admitted to being a Weasley."

Harry froze. "Ron?"

Draco didn't appear to notice the catch in his voice. "Nah, he couldn't have been older than fifteen. Son of Xavier Weasley – he came into bags of money with his quill business just after you, er…"

"Died?" Harry suggested.

"Well, yes."

Harry sighed. "He must be one of the boys she's talking about. You didn't see a third one?"

"She told _two_ people? It's _true _that Gryffindors can't keep secrets." Draco floated around so he could read over Harry's shoulder. "That's nice and vague," he laughed.

"Tempting, though," said Harry.

"What is?"

"Her offer."

"What – 'let me know if I can help you'? How could she possibly help us? Are you planning to set up a third-year spy ring at Hogwarts?"

"Don't be an idiot. I can't turn a thirteen-year-old girl into a spy."

"You're going to, though, aren't you?"

"…well."

Draco snickered. "No one's going to tell me anything," Harry argued. "I'm apparently a disabled ex-Auror whose family is dead – they won't tell me if anything's going to happen."

"But they'll tell this girl?"

"She's clever," Harry argued. "She sees things."

"She has eyes, yes."

"I meant, she's very observant."

Draco made a face that implied there was no point left in defending his argument. "She's nosy, you mean," he grumbled. "Spying on her own Professors. For shame."

Harry grinned in triumph and started to scribble on the back of Beth's letter.

"I can't believe Granger's _teaching_," Draco remarked after a while. If he noticed Harry's shoulders stiffen momentarily, he said nothing about it. "She must be the youngest Hogwarts Professor ever."

"One of them," Harry mumbled, apparently too concentrated on his letter to pay much attention. "Snape's been there for about twenty years and he's only about Lupin's age."

"Only?" Draco sneered.

"He's younger than he looks," said Harry. "If he's still alive, that is."

"I wouldn't be too hopeful," Draco shrugged, displaying a hardly out-of-character disregard. "But if he _is_… well. He might come in handy, I suppose."

"What's that supposed to mean?

"Well, you've got this burr in your feathers about telling your friends who you really are, but, well…"

"What – you reckon Lupin'd be way more accepting because of how he took Sirius back without a second thought?" Harry shot back.

"Jolly decent of him, wot?" snickered Draco. There was little the tactfully-challenged ghost didn't know about Harry's relationship with the former Professor Lupin – that sort of thing tended to come out when, after two years of being cell mates, one runs out of subject matter.

"The word is idiotic, Draco."

Draco raised a silvery eyebrow, finally realising he was touching some nerves. "Well, it _had _somewhat influenced my reasoning, yes."

Harry glared at him. "Lupin was one of Sirius' best friends for eight years, remember? He barely even _knows _me – the only time we really spent together was when he was teaching, and that was eight years _ago_. Why should I trust him any more than Dumbledore, or Ron or Hermione?"

"Oh, it's a _trust _issue, is it?" Draco mused. "I'm so glad we have these little talks – I learn _so _much. Glad we're finally sharing."

"Go share with someone else for once," Harry growled, sealing the letter and giving it back to the owl. "I'm done talking.

"But you were doing so _well_. Fine, let's go back to talking about Granger."

"I don't _want _to talk about Hermione, or anyone else!" Harry shouted, causing the poor owl to tumble backwards out of the window and fly off in a flurry of feathers, screeching curses. His head pounded and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He realised he was standing up, and he reached out a hand to the table to steady himself.

"Why not?" Draco demanded, unshaken by his outburst.

Harry turned away. After a while the silence made his ears ring.

"It's getting worse," he whispered, feeling his knuckles turn white as he gripped the table-top. "The forgetting. I can feel the memories… slipping away. And when I try to get them back…" He shuddered.

"I remembered Hedwig," he continued, feeling the cold as Draco came up behind him. "My owl. The first night I came here. It was like… like she'd just been erased from my whole life – but there was _something _left. It just dropped into my mind. I grabbed at it, and – it _hurt_. I collapsed. That's why I was at the bar."

Mustering all his courage, he looked back at the ghost, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. "I forgot her," he said, ignoring the pain in his head despite its worsening. "Apart from Hagrid, she was my first ever friend, and I couldn't even remember she existed. Who knows what else they took from my mind?"

Draco shook his head. "Doesn't mean they won't believe you." They both knew he was talking about a different 'they', but to Harry the fear was the same. He laughed bitterly.

"It does. I knew it, as soon as I saw them. Nothing I can say will make them take me back." He walked to the door, knowing that continuing to stand was a bad idea. He had to get to the bathroom, fast.

Draco had one more thing to say before Harry could make good his escape. "Then it'll have to be something you _do_."

_I won't go back, _Harry thought, as he dragged his protesting legs up the stairs. _I can't. Not yet. _

oO0Oo

Two weeks after Harry Potter became the first person ever to escape from Ynys Addoed, Ron Weasley, as luck would have it, was late for work on what would most probably turn out to be the most important day of his career at the Academy. When he eventually arrived in the Apparition point, his ears were assaulted by the sound of a hundred young adults talking at once. It sounded like someone had streaked across a packed Quidditch pitch (a sound he was, unfortunately, acquainted with). His breathing already heavy from the rushed apparition, he opened the door onto a corridor filled with what looked like most of the Academy – third years and up – moving mob-like in the same direction.

To Ron's relief, he spotted Beau, standing near the wall on the other side of the crowd. "Hey!" he called to his friend, diving headfirst into the throng and shoving his way through to the older man. "S'going on?"

"Meeting in Lecture Hall Five!" Beau yelled back over the noise. "It's a call to arms, Ron! All men needed – all the Senior Trainees!"

Ron's stomach dropped suddenly, and he stopped trying to reach his friend and let himself he swept along by the crowd. Ron was no coward, or he would never have survived the Academy this long, but a mission of the size that _this _entailed meant the Department of Magical Law enforcement was expecting heavy casualties.

Lecture Hall Five was build to accommodate three hundred people – the Academy had been a lot bigger in the old days – but with all the senior classes at the Academy as well as some of the current soldiers of the department, almost half that number again was fighting for standing space. It was a giant indoor amphitheatre, with twenty rows of seats surrounding a central dais.

Ron heard someone call his name and made his way over to where Jeanne had saved him a seat, causing those nearby to glare at her. "Where are the Aurors?" he panted, dropping into a seat beside her.

"No idea," she said her face grave.

Silence eventually settled as three men walked onto the dais. Ron jumped when he saw the third man, smoothing his long white beard to his shiny violet robe. It was Dumbledore.

"Listen up, lads and lassies," began Mr. Connolly, the Deputy Head of the Department, his voice magnified a hundred times by the Sonorus spell. "Ye all know why ye're here. Ye've a mission to fulfil. So here's the long an' the short of it. Any of ye ever heard of a place called _Ynys Addoed_?"

A few tentative hands were raised. Ron raised his own hand, drawing stares and whispers from all around him.

"Aye, well," Connolly continued. "Ah'm not surprised. Up till now, most would have preferred teh believe that such a place was a mere myth. Ynys Addoed is an island fortress where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is supposed to hold prisoners, have meetings, house his most prized Death Eaters and so on. It's also meant to be his secret headquarters and his own private bolt-hole." He sniffed. "Or at least, it was during the last war."

"Is it like Azkaban, sir?" someone called out.

"Just like," said Connolly, apparently not vexed at the interruption. "Ynys Addoed was supposed to have been modelled on Azkaban."

"We have reason to believe," he raised his voice, so Ron had to fight the urge to cover his ears. "That the 'Island of Death', which is the _very _rough Welsh translation," he scowled, "is not such a myth as people such as the old Minister tried to encourage it to be."

"Your think there might be prisoners there _now_, sir?" called someone else. This time Ron saw who it was – Susie Rainer, whose older brother had gone missing a month ago. Looking around, he saw a number of faces light up with hope of missing family and friends. He clenched his fists with anger. Whether he'd meant to or not, Connolly ha d just given hope – false hope! – to all those people.

"It seems," shouted the second man on the dais, quietening the sudden wave of frantic whispering which had spread through the Hall. He was an ex-Auror like Roswell, Joseph Blueman, the Headmaster of the Academy. "It _seems_," he repeated, "that a recent escapee of the fortress has provided the Ministry with enough information to attack it." In the silence which followed, Ron realised Blueman was talking about the man Hermione had spoken to him about after Harry's Death-Day, the man who had come to Hogwarts. _No wonder Dumbledore's here_, he thought.

"It's also rumoured," Blueman continued his tone of voice making it clear how much he disapproved of basing the important element of a dangerous mission on a 'rumour', "that up to a hundred Death Eaters – including the Azkaban escapees of a few years ago – are currently living in the castle."

"Ye're task is to take the castle," Connolly continued. "It's that simple. Kill or capture any Death Eaters ye find, and find and release any prisoners."

He looked around with large black eyes under thick eyebrows. "Now I know three and a half to one is good odds, but, well…" he paused, as if struggling with how to tell the _bad _news of the morning.

"We won't have an Auror force," said Blueman, looking angry. "None of them can be spared, and neither can most of our Law Enforcement forces. Of those of you who are here, almost a third are trainees, young and inexperienced. Due to the probably non-existence of the place, only a small force could be requisitioned for this, and we're forced to add our Senior Trainees to the effort. Now – although you all knew this was a danger when you signed up," he sighed, "I've decided to give our third and fourth years a choice. Should you feel you are not sufficiently prepared for battle, stay behind."

Ron and Jeanne looked at each other. Neither of _them _were going to stay behind while their friends were killed in an attack against an invisible castle. No one else volunteered to remain, either.

"Very well," said Connolly, firmly. "Be ready to leave here by this afternoon. We attack at midnight."

oO0Oo

9. Two Weeks On - Learning How to Swim – Lonnie Gordon


	13. Meetings

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Hi guys – this chapter was written immediately after the last one, so I'm hoping you'll get it sooner… unfortunately since the everything-stolen fiasco I've been chapters behind instead of chapters ahead, so I'll have to see how it goes. Thanks EVERYONE for your incredible reviews and well-wishes… as a result, this chapter is almost half as long again as usual. Enjoy!

**STILL ALIVE**

**13**

Some readers of the story so far may very well wonder why the author, who has obviously made an effort to impart some semblance of mystery into the story of Harry, and his memory lapses, and whatever the atrocity he suffered during his imprisonment was that even he and his ghostly friend Draco Malfoy are afraid to talk about, spends so much time writing about the lives of three third-year students at Hogwarts.

_Well,_ replies the author with a knowing smile. _You never know._

But the truth is that if it weren't for Beth Green, Quin Weasley and especially William Ross, the outcome of the midnight attack of the Magical Law Enforcement on the island castle of Ynys Addoed would have been very different. But that's getting rather ahead of ourselves, now isn't it?

oO0Oo

It was William who heard about the attack, when he was walking past the staffroom on his way back from lunch. Perhaps it was not a route he would usually have taken, and perhaps he was prompted to stop and listen at the keyhole by the new-found curiosity that had flared up in him upon the forging of his new friendships, who could say? But nevertheless, he was there, and he heard.

Before long, he was running the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower to tell Beth and Quin that Professor Dumbledore had just got back from the MLE Training Academy, and now a force of three hundred or more was going to attack Mr. Jenson's former prison _that night._

Beth immediately grabbed parchment and quill and started writing at lightning speed, while Quin clapped William on the back and congratulated him on his find.

Once the owl, who had been pecking around the Common Room in search of snacks, had soared through the window and over the distant trees of the forest and out of sight, they all turned back to look at one another.

"Well," said Beth. "What now?"

Quin laughed.

oO0Oo

The air in the large stone hall was damp, sticking to its occupants like slime, making them itch inside their thick black robes. One man near the back half-raised his hand, intending to scratch his nose under his mask, but thought better of it.

The eyes of Lord Voldemort were on them all. "I leave for Moscow tonight," the snake-man said with a low hiss. "I trust I can rely on you all to maintain current practices in my absence." The subtext read, 'behave yourselves'.

"Lucius," called Voldemort, softly. At his right, a man stood forward, blonde hair visible under his mask. "You are my vassal." The Dark Lord's gaze was still fixed on the hundred-odd other people in the room. "You will all obey Lucius as you would obey me."

"But he's mad," muttered a young man on the edge of the crowd.

"The Master likes madmen," hissed his neighbour. "Hush."

"Bellatrix!" Voldemort called. Lestrange stepped forward, aided by her husband. "You look radiant. How do you feel?"

Bellatrix was the only one among them, besides The Dark Lord himself, who was unmasked. She curtsied, with some difficulty. "Like stars, my Lord," she said, gazing up at the enthroned man-creature. "Like I can see to the ends of the universe… and the moon is singing to me."

"Very good," said Voldemort, sounding intrigued. "Let me know if anything changes," he hissed to Lucius, who nodded.

Just when everyone thought the worst was over, the Dark Lord stood. "Don't think," he began, causing an almost audible wave of fear to spread through the ranks of his followers, "that I have forgotten the recent… mishap. I doubt most of you were aware of this particular prisoner's importance, but that is no excuse for the security of this castle weakening to such a degree that _anyone, _especially a prisoner weakened by _four years _here, to escape the cells." His red gaze seemed to settle on each of them, one by one. "I have yet to think up a suitable punishment, but be assured that I will.

"Of course, I don't hold _you_ to blame, my dear," he added to Bellatrix as he passed, lifting a hand to brush his long white fingers across her cheek. He apparently didn't notice Rodulphus Lestrange glaring at him from behind his mask as he used both arms to support his wife, who stared adoringly at her Master.

Voldemort merely smiled once more. After all, he didn't _need _Potter anymore. Of course, it would have been a lot more convenient if he could have been killed at the appointed time… but trust that dratted Malfoy boy to get in the way even _after _Bellatrix had got around to finishing him off.

He fumed ever so slightly when he recalled how he'd been told that the guards had been distracted by the ghost – who people should have been getting _used _to after seven months – while Potter made good his escape through Lucius' bedroom window, of all places.

Still, it didn't matter. He had what he needed.

Still smiling he waited until he was at the highest point of the room before whispering the Apparition passwords known only to him and his most trusted, and disappeared with a loud crack.

It never hurt to make an exit.

oO0Oo

_Two weeks earlier:_

He must have passed out, or half-drowned after his fall from the high window, because when next he woke he was lying on something soft with Draco yelling in his ear.

"Get _up_, you bastard!"

_No! _screamed his brain, but he attempted to move anyway. At his first gasp for air, however, he was impeded by a sudden coughing fit as his lungs rejected the gallons of salt water he'd tried to inhale.

"_Finally_," Draco muttered as Harry continued to throw up water. "I was getting worried."

Harry shivered. He was kneeling on sand, weighed down by Lucius Malfoy's huge robe. It was still dark.

"If you were wearing any more underneath, I'd suggest you take that off," said Draco, pointing to the robe. "But the Knight Bus probably has a dress code."

"What?" Harry croaked, pushing his long salt-soaked hair out of his face. There was sand in it, and in his beard.

"Are you done? We have to find a road."

Harry looked behind him, out to the ocean. "Where is it?" he whispered. "The castle?"

"Invisible," Draco shrugged, glowing faintly in the darkness. "And go-throughable, if you don't know it's there. Can you stand?"

Harry spat out the last mouthful of water. "Thanks for asking." He stood, shakily. "That's Potion's incredible."

"Isn't it just?" Draco grinned. "And you'll be happy to know there's only one country where it's legal and it's not here. The coming down process is not fun."

"Yes, you warned me." Harry started to drag his bare feet up the long stretch of beach. There seemed to be some trees up ahead. "You sound like you talk from experience."

"Well how'd you think I knew how to find it in my father's room?"

The trees grew closer and closer until Harry could see a thick gravel path on the other side. "This'll do," said Draco.

"Um, Draco?"

"Yes?"

"How are we going to get the Knight Bus? I don't have a wand."

"I'll handle it. Ghosts give off a magical signature – less than a wand, but more than your average witch or wizard. And stop staring at me. You'd know this stuff too if you'd ever done any reading into Advanced Magical Theory."

oO0Oo

The young man who had protested against Lucius' appointment was the first to leave the room after the dramatic Disapparition. He had to make a report to Snape, which meant he had to somehow get a message out of the castle without Lucius' permission. But he had somewhere to go, first.

How had he got himself into this position? Blaise wondered about this as he ran carefully down the stairs to the dungeons, trying to keep his head clear. After Snape's warning about Ynys Addoed and the so-called escapee, and about Draco's death… he hadn't had much of a choice. To be a spy you had to be in the thick of it, and Ynys Addoed was as thick as one could get. He was lost here, and alone. How he was to get out, he had no idea.

Why had he come here? He'd been trying to get closer to the Dark Lord for years, ever since he'd entered Snape's services as spy, but there was a vast difference between 'close' and 'closest'. Only the Dark Lord's closest resided at Ynys Addoed. A hundred of them, roughly, reserved for the darkest of work, the most dangerous of missions. They were the elite.

Blaise had worked hard to get here over the last two weeks. And now he was here, and in serious danger.

If Snape's news that Draco was dead had shocked him, the knowledge that his old school friend had hung around in the castle afterwards for seven months, as a ghost, had practically floored him. It was privileged information, for some reason, so no one outside of the castle knew about it. Vincent's father Georg Crabbe had told Blaise, in confidence, knowing about Blaise's friendship with the young man. What he hadn't said much about was the escaped prisoner, who seemed to be on everyone's minds but not in anyone's mouths. It was up to him to do his own research, as usual.

There were two guards on the entrance to the cells. Cursing himself for not anticipating this after the Dark Lord's speech about the escapee, he grabbed a loose brick from the floor and transfigured it into something somewhat resembling a blackened loaf of bread. He wrinkled his nose at it. According to the Lestranges, the prisoners could survive for years on this stuff, but _honestly_. He could hardly bear to touch it.

"I come bearing food," he called out to the guards, holding up the loaf. The guards both made faces. "Or something resembling it, anyway," he added.

"Haven't seen you down here before," said one of them, a huge man with skin a similar colour to Blaise.

"I'm new," he said, truthfully. "Blaise Zabini?"

"Oh, right," said the other guard, who was so skinny he may as well have been one of the prisoners. "Yeah, I've heard the name. Let him through, Hamza."

Blaise walked past the two men, trying to breathe through his mouth. Something was dripping down here, something that smelt so strong he occasionally had to gag into his sleeve.

He knew the way – someone had told him. Fourth from the end. Right hand side. Black door.

This had been Draco's cell. There was someone else in it now, curled up in a ball, shivering. Blaise tore off a piece of the loaf in his hand – for appearances – and shoved it through a gap in the bars.

"Pathetic, right?" said a voice from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder – Hamza had followed him down.

"Yes," he said quietly. Without facing the man he turned back and walked up to the next cell – fifth from the end. It was empty, save for some rusting old chains. "This is where he escaped from?" he asked.

"You ask a lot of questions for a new man," boomed the guard, suspiciously.

"I'm fascinated," Blaise admitted. "And no one knows who the guy was, right?"

"No once, 'cept His Lordship, Malfoy and the Lestranges," replied the guard.

"I heard the prisoner's been calling himself 'Jenson' on the outside. Mark Jenson."

"Doubt it," said the guard. "Unless we've had two in here. We had a Jenson, but he died, what, two years ago? Used to be in there," he added, jerking his thumb towards Draco's old cell. Blaise filed this away – Snape would be more than interested. Hastily he ensured that his Occlumency shields were still up – they were.

"Funny," he said. "If he's calling himself Jenson, he must have _known_ Jenson, mustn't he?"

"S'pose so," said the guard, uncomfortably.

"So they must have communicated somehow."

The guard's eyes narrowed. He reached for the keys at his belt and stuck one of them in the lock of the empty cell. "_Aperio_," he told it. The key glowed, and the door creaked open. Blaise had not been aware that stone could creak.

They went in together, both keeping one eye on the other, just in case. _This place is like a tureen of suspicion_, Blaise thought, suppressing a smile at this image. _No one is who they really are, here. _He doubted that Hamza had _too _many layers, however. "Don't see anything," said the guard.

"You're not looking properly," said Blaise. Wincing a little – for his robes were quite good quality and, though not new, were not designed for such treatment – he sat down between the chains at the end of the room. "He sat here," he said, more to himself than to the guard, who answered, "Not for a while. The chains get pretty pointless after a year or so, so we don't bother reattachin' em."

"Still… look at the stone. It's smoother here, slightly."

Hamza sniffed. "One man can't make a shape like that after four years."

"No, but a hundred men could, over a lot more," Blaise answered. He lay down between the chains, roughly in the position a man would _have _to lie if secured to the wall by those chains. The impression in the stone made the position marginally more comfortable than lying on flat stone. Something caught his eye – it was a hole in the wall about the size of a small brick – as if the builder of the wall had finished unevenly and figured that a crack in a two-foot-thick wall between two cells wouldn't particularly matter. "Here."

Hamza knelt down. "Well I'll be," he said. "They'd have been chattin' together for years on end – first him and Jenson, then him and Malfoy…" he trailed off, realising his mistake.

"That's all right," said Blaise. "I already know."

"You what?" Hamza breathed, apparently frightened out of his mind.

"I know Draco Malfoy was here. It's simple deduction. If he was haunting the place, that means he must have died here, right? Besides, Georg and I are old friends. He told me."

"You mustn't talk about it," Hamza hissed, looking over his shoulder to check no one had come up behind them, despite the fact that anyone walking up the echoic corridor would have been heard miles away. "Never talk about it. _Especially _with… with _him_ in charge."

Blaise saw the raw fear in the big man's eyes. "How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Three years," said Hamza, his hands shaking slightly. The sight was remarkably odd on such a huge man. "I were here when they brung him in. Unconscious. Lestrange screaming on about how he's a spy… his pa wasn't havin' any of it. Till they presented a bucket-load of evidence – then the boy wakes up…"

"What happened?" Blaise asked, hungrily. The man was talking about the last day Blaise had ever seen his Slytherin friend, the day everyone had been too preoccupied with the fake-Potter situation at Hogwarts to notice he was missing.

"Spat at His Lordship's feet, din' e?" Hamza whispered. "Threw a hissy fit."

This time, Blaise couldn't stop the smile – he wasn't built to be a spy, not really. That sounded _just _like something Draco would do. "And they threw him down here," he said, not asking. "Two year sentence."

"Next thing, we lose a prisoner, the ghost is gone," said Hamza, almost inaudibly. "And am I glad I wasn't on guard that night. The men…"

"Don't tell me," said Blaise. "Believe me, I don't want to know."

Hamza checked over his shoulder again. "We're for it now," he said, his voice shaking. "He knows. The Dark Lord always knows. Even _talking _about it… why did you come down here?" he growled. "We're both dead men now."

"Not so," said Blaise. "I'm getting the hell out of here, tonight. Fancy coming with me?" Out of sight, his right forefinger rested on the catch that would release his wand in a fraction of a second.

"You… what…?"

Blaise grinned. Perhaps had his information, and his way out, after all.

oO0Oo

Classes had been called off for the day, which made for an uncomfortable atmosphere in the Academy. No one was allowed to go home, or contact anyone, in case the details of the attack leaked out to Voldemort's followers.

Ron sat on a bench in one of the training rooms, watching some determined third-years taking out their nerves on some punching bags. _They look so young, _he thought. _Was I that young, last year? _

"Waiting your turn?" asked Jeanne, sitting down beside him.

Ron shrugged. "I was going to," he admitted. "I think I've run out of adrenaline."

After a pause, she asked, "Are you scared?"

He turned to look at her. "Aren't you?"

"Of course. I was only asking because… well. You don't look it."

Ron chuckled. "Tell my friends from school that. They won't believe you. I used to jump at loud noises. Sometimes not even loud ones."

"Not anymore?"

He thought about it. "No. I'm a lot different, I guess."

She sighed. "Ron…"

"Yes?"

"… nothing."

Suddenly a voice boomed out of the walls, barely comprehensible over the echoes it made through the entire building.

"_All Senior Trainees report to the Entrance Hall for briefing. Repeat: all Senior Trainees report to the Entrance Hall for briefing."_

Bright blue eyes met grey. "Well," said Jeanne, a slight tremor in her voice. "This is it, then."

oO0Oo

Draco was in the kitchen when the owl arrived. He watched it land on the table and gave it a not-quite-apologetic look when it held out it's leg for him to take it.

"Sorry," he told the owl. "Wish I could help."

The owl gave him a haughty stare, as if to say he didn't _need _any help, thank you very much, and snapped the string with its beak. The letter fell open onto the table, at just the right angle for Draco to read, if he bent over slightly.

"Thanks," he said, surprised. _When did I get so polite to owls? _he wondered, as the tawny flapped off through the window. Harry was a really bad influence for that sort of thing – Draco had almost apologised to one of those wretched House Elves, the other day. He sniggered as he imagined what his father's reaction to _that _would be – but his moment of sardonic enjoyment was cut short by the contents of the letter.

_Mr Jenson_

_MLE are attacking Inis Athoid at midnight_

_Beth Green._

The spelling was awful, but the meaning was clear. Momentarily, Draco contemplated asking a House Elf to throw the letter in the bin – but that would be pointless, Harry would still find out and then he'd sulk for weeks – it didn't bear thinking about. But at the same time, the ghost knew all too well what Harry's reaction to this note would be… and _that _didn't particularly bear thinking about either.

Oh, hell.

"Harry!" he yelled up the stairs. "Your spy ring reports!"

Harry came down the stairs at a remarkable speed for someone who'd taken two hours to climb a tower two weeks earlier. Draco couldn't help but be impressed at the speed of Harry's recovery, but that didn't mean he wasn't as suspicious about it as Hermione was. If Harry was really so super-powerful that he could bounce back from potentially fatal malnutrition and infection in less than two weeks, surely he would have been on his feet after two months of being left alone in his cell, last year?

He watched the thin man reading the note, observing this time the tension building in the disused shoulder muscles.

"Oh," Harry said eventually. "Is that how you spell it?"

"No."

"Oh," he said again, putting the note down.

"What do we do?" Draco asked, knowing the answer.

"I'm going to get changed," said Harry, "and then we're going to Wales."

Draco rolled his ghostly eyes as his friend left the room. "Yep. That's what I was afraid of."

oO0Oo

"Look!" Quin hissed, pointing out of the window. They were in the Common Room again, talking in whispers so as not to be overheard by their housemates.

"How did you know?" William asked in awe as they looked down at the small hooded figure walking through the darkening grounds.

"I told you – she's been way too interested in this whole thing from the beginning. Besides, I know her, sort of. Friend of the family."

"But what if she gets hurt?" asked Beth, sitting beside him on the window seat.

"She won't," he said. "Cause we're going with her." He slipped off the seat and started to make for the dormitory, but was stopped by William's hand on his shoulder. He was remarkably strong for such a skinny person.

"Are you forgetting?" he said seriously. "We're thirteen. Stupid stuff like stealing birds, putting frogspawn in Snape's tea, that's fine. But you're talking about walking onto a battlefield."

"I know," said Quin, nonchalantly, pulling out of his friend's grip. "But _someone _has to keep an eye on her."

"And what daft voice in your head told you it should be us?"

"Same one as always," Quin shot back. "Look, she's my second cousin's best friend. Doesn't that give me the right to protect her?"

"No," said the others, in unison.

"Fine," Quin shrugged. "Try and stop me."

William made a lightning-fast grab for him, but Quin was good at not getting grabbed. They watched him grab his bag as he fled out of the portrait hole.

"His cloak's in there," Beth whispered.

"Brilliant," said William.

They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Letting one of their teachers wander alone to almost-certain death was one thing, but Quin – excitable, dangerous, overconfident Quinton Weasley, the boy who invented taking risks – that was something else. Something neither of them could do.

Without another word, they followed him.

oO0Oo

In all but mind, Harry was ready. He was dressed in the jeans and T-shirt Hermione had leant him back at Hogwarts. If they belonged to Ron, as he suspected, he probably wouldn't mind if they got messed up. He didn't want to risk his new things. He wore a new jacket, however, against the March cold and the sea breeze.

He had socks and shoes and gloves. He had – though he'd hesitated a little in taking it – an old hooded cloak of Mark Jenson's. He had to have _some_ kind of disguise, if he was to have any hope of sneaking into the island fortress with the Aurors. Besides, he knew Mark would have wanted to help any way he could – to avenge his killing. _And Draco's_, Harry thought grimly as he fastened the cloak around his neck and raised the hood.

He wasn't armed. It didn't worry him, though. Where he was going, you couldn't walk five paces without finding a weapon of some kind.

People were going to die tonight. All he could do was hope that he wasn't one of them.

He went back downstairs, where Draco was waiting for him.

"Ready?" the ghost asked.

He made no reply. _Ready, in all but mind. _

"You realise what this means, don't you?" continued the voice, from far away. "You know what you're about to do."

"I know." He glanced up the stairs, making sure Polly and Midge would not be witness to their departure. This way, the Ministry would not hear that Mark Jenson had escaped until it was far too late. "You'll follow me?" he asked.

"Not much choice," said Draco bitterly. "When was the last time you Apparated, out of interest?"

"When I took my test," he replied. "Four and a half years."

"Great. And you know where you're going?"

"Yes." He'd gone with Ron and Arthur to the main building of the Magical Law Enforcement, when Ron had been considering pre-Auror work as a career prospect. He had wondered briefly whether his friend had still made that choice, but found the idea hard to stomach. Nevertheless, he remembered the place.

"Let's go, then."

He swallowed, and concentrated. Three seconds later, Draco was being pulled along a funnel of magical energy by his connection to what he liked to refer to as his 'unfinished business', leaving behind an empty hallway.

People were going to die tonight.

_Ready. In all but mind. _

oO0Oo

Hermione knew better than to Disapparate in the immediate area around Hogwarts – even as far as Hogsmeade. While the wards only prevented Apparition within the school grounds, Dumbledore's range was a lot wider. Annoying as it was that she still hadn't figured out how, the old wizard would know she was gone even before she landed.

Her destination, therefore, was the Three Broomsticks and the Floo to Ron's school. That way, no one would know she was gone until breakfast the next morning, if she didn't get back in time. She dreaded the lecture that would follow, and was already trying to come up with her response to McGonagall's furious question; "What were you doing there in the first place?"

She didn't know the answer.

_Call me thrice a fool, _she thought as she hurried down the path to the village, having completely avoided both the lake and the forest. _Leaving the safety of the school, walking deliberately onto a battleground, and doing it alone. Capital plan, Hermione. _

With these thoughts she entered Hogsmeade, completely unaware that three of her third-year Gryffindor students were only a short way behind her the entire time.

oO0Oo

Quin hadn't said a word when Beth and William caught up to him, only smiled that annoying, all-knowing smile of his and beckoned them under the invisibility cloak before Professor Granger could look back and spot them.

"She's making for the pub," he hissed now. "Run!"

"Why?" panted Beth, who was fighting the urge to complain about the massive stitch in her side.

"So we can hear where she Floos to, Clueless," he replied, almost leaving them behind in his hurry.

As it was, they only just got inside the door of the gradually filling pub in time to see the fire in the hearth turn green and hear Professor Granger say clearly, "Magical Law Enforcement – Training Academy."

"What now?" Beth whispered, when their Charms teacher had disappeared in a ball of green flame.

"Floo Power," said Quin, checking that the cloak still covered his legs.

"They don't sell it to students, idiot!" Beth said quickly. "Look out!" Invisibility was not a comfortable state to be in when you were in a crowded pub.

"He's not going to buy it," said William, rolling his eyes.

"Quin, you _can't_!"

"Watch me." Dragging them along by the cloak, Quin reached out to the bar and grabbed one of the tiny bags out of the glass box on the side of the bar. Luckily no one seemed to notice the arm coming out of nowhere to steal a sickle's worth of Floo Powder, but this only encouraged Quin even more. He pulled them towards the fire. "We have to go together," he whispered, ducking to avoid being hit by a tall wizard as he made an exaggerated gesture.

"That's illegal, _and _dangerous," said William, then, at the look on Quin's face, added; "Just thought I'd point it out."

"Hold on tight," said Quin.

oO0Oo

Harry was lucky he'd decided to Apparate in the courtyard of the Magical Law Enforcement block – between the Academy, the infirmary and the main building. If anyone were to Apparate inside one of those buildings he'd be Splinched from here till Sunday.

As it was, he appeared near the wall amid a bustle of activity. A few people looked around when he popped into existence a few feet away, but seeing he didn't appear to pose any threat, returned to what they were doing. Which was leading vans into the courtyard. Big black vans.

"Looks full-scale," said a voice in his ear.

He turned around. "Where are you?" he asked, dimly.

"I'm invisible, you dolt. And don't ever do that again."

"It was your idea!"

"I don't care."

"It can't have hurt you," Harry reasoned, turning back to watch the van-loading. There were maybe ten of them – certain not enough to carry all the men they'd need… "You're dead."

"Painful, no. Mind-blasting, limb… wrenching, soul-stretching, yes. If I had anything to throw up, I think I'd be doing it right about now. "

He turned again to stare at the patch of empty air behind him. "Soul-stretching?"

"Talking to yourself, Mr. Jenson?" said another, very familiar voice. For the third time since his escape, he turned to face Hermione. Her hair was tugged back into a ponytail, and she wore casual black robes that were a little too small for her. She saw him noticing and sighed. "I know," she said quietly, so as not be overheard by anyone around them. "But it was the closest I could get to the uniform. I could have charmed them bigger, but they'd never be the same again."

With her standing there, talking as if they were friends, it was hard to find words.

"Uniform?" he managed to choke.

"Not the Auror one, the Enforcement Trainees. I figured I could pass myself off as a student pretty easily. I should have thought of that," she added, pointing at his cloak. "Shows how good I am at this short of thing."

"Why?" he managed. He felt a stab of cold between his shoulder-blades, which meant that Draco had just poked him in the back. He could almost hear the command to stop being such a monosyllabic numbskull.

"To see for myself," Hermione answered primly. "I have my own suspicions about the place. What are you doing here, though? I thought you were meant to be under Ministry protection."

_Some protection_, Harry thought. "Same as you," he said. "My own mission."

"But how did you ever find out?"

He shrugged. "I have my sources."

Behind Hermione, Beth stuffed a fist into her mouth to smother a fit of the giggles. They'd had to run to catch up with Professor Granger after they came though the fireplace in a room apparently built expressly for that purpose, but they had made it. Beth wasn't at all surprised to see Mr. Jenson here already. He had a habit of being a step ahead of her all the time.

"Oh, really?" said Hermione. "Well, I suppose it's for the good." She was looking at him oddly now, as if there was something she wanted to ask him but was restraining herself. "I hope you know more about the subtle art of espionage than I do."

"You're coming with me?"

"No, you're coming with me, but there's no time to argue about that. Wait – here they come."

Harry followed her gaze to the doors of the Academy, where at least a hundred if not more young people in black Trainee robes were gathering, looking apprehensively at the vans. His heart stopped when he thought he saw a flash of red hair and a familiar face somewhere in the middle of it all – but then it was gone.

"Dumbledore was right," Hermione muttered, more to herself, it seemed, than to him. "There are no Aurors. Just Trainees and soldiers – not even that many of those."

Harry saw she was right. "Why?"

"The Deputy Head of the Department wanted to use all the resources they had," said Hermione. "But he's the most convinced of the existence of the fortress. No one else seems to mind that much that it's just sitting there in the middle of the ocean – or they don't believe it is."

"It exists," Harry insisted, in case she was wanting him to clarify.

"I know," she said, not looking at him. "Look, they're coming out."

A short man with a loud barking voice was herding the Trainees towards the vans. As soon as they started to fill the vehicles, Harry knew they had to be magically enlarged. Thirty people couldn't fit into a van that size.

"Come on," Hermione said suddenly, grabbing his wrist and leading him to the closest van, which had yet to be approached by any Trainees. "Up the back."

The van was the size of a lorry. There was room for _more _than thirty people – there was room for more than thirty horses. He followed her to the very back of the van, where they were soon joined by a group of Trainees, talking softly and excitedly amongst themselves.

The first jolt of the van against the gravel made his heart jump in his chest. His right side was suddenly icy, and he yelped. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked him anxiously.

"Nothing," he breathed, inching closer to the edge of the vehicle. To Draco he whispered, "Keep your hands to yourself."

"You don't know how weird this is," was the answering whisper. "I'm not solid, so the thing moves without me – I have to move to keep up with it."

Hermione looked at him strangely, but didn't say anything.

They were quiet for a while. Harry felt the return of the travel sickness he'd had on the Knight Bus, two weeks ago. It seemed like a lifetime.

"You said you had your own mission," Hermione said, thoughtfully. Inwardly, Harry cursed himself for saying anything so obvious. "What did you mean?"

Harry looked around. They were sitting slightly apart from the others, so that they could whisper without being overheard.

"Tell her," Draco whispered in his ear.

Harry wondered when he'd started taking orders from a Malfoy. _When he started teaching me Occlumency_, he realised. _Over two years ago._

"I left some stuff out," he said. "When I was at Hogwarts, before."

Hermione didn't interrupt him. He took a deep breath.

"There's a weapon," he said softly. "A weapon Bellatrix Lestrange is making for Voldemort. And I've got to destroy it."

Hermione stared at him. "Why you?"

He met her eyes, seeing in her some of the best times of his life, knowing that it could all be over after tonight.

"Because I'm the only one who can."


	14. Betrayed and Discovered

Disc: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Look. I'm still alive. Ironic, much? Okay, I know it's been a while since I updated, but I have two very good excuses: one, I had final exams a few weeks ago, and two, since then I've been working on a total story revamp. A few people have pointed out some flaws, or rather, gaping holes, in the plot, which if you reread the story I hope you'll find are slightly less awful than previously. Not much has changed in terms of plot, but I like to think of the whole thing as being on its second draft. As a reward, however, you get a chapter which is slightly longer than usual, although this is mainly because I wanted the perfect place to put a chapter break. Only a couple of chapters left before Part 1 is over! Anyway, please enjoy.

**STILL ALIVE**

**14**

"_I left some stuff out," he said. "When I was at Hogwarts, before." Hermione didn't interrupt him. He took a deep breath. _

"_There's a weapon," he said softly. "A weapon Bellatrix Lestrange is making for Voldemort. And I've got to destroy it."_

_Hermione stared at him. "Why you?"_

_He met her eyes, seeing in her some of the best times of his life, knowing that it could all be over after tonight. _

"_Because I'm the only one who can."_

oO0Oo

Hermione realised she had been holding her breath, and let it out all at once. "That doesn't make any sense," she pointed out. If she hadn't been suspicious before, she was _now_.

"Not my fault," Harry said, sitting back.

"Nice," said a sarcastic, invisible voice near his ear.

"Why are you the only one who can destroy it?" Hermione asked. "That's rubbish."

"Not really," he said, not meeting her eyes. "It was… made with my blood. Don't make an issue of it."

"With your –" Hermione realised she was forgetting to whisper and looked around guiltily. Luckily, everyone else was also talking, so no one had particularly noticed. "_Why_?"

"Dunno," Harry lied. "Does it matter?"

oO0Oo

After Professor Granger and Mr. Jenson had snuck into the van on the far left, the three young Gryffindors had been left stranded in the courtyard, trying desperately to stay out of the way of the hundred or more trainees who were loading into the vans. Beth felt Quin tug at her shirt and turned so quickly that she nearly banged into him. "This way," the redhead hissed, leading them to the end of the courtyard where the last van in the row was being loaded with boxes and sacks of things – a supply van, Beth surmised. They scrambled into it, hiding behind two large wooden crates just as the double doors of the vehicle slammed shut.

"Excellent!" said Quin, throwing off the cloak as the engine rumbled into action. Beth welcomed the ability to breathe with the utmost relief, but felt a shiver of fear run down her spine at the realisation of where they were now headed.

"Won't anyone notice a dozen black vans trundling down the M25?" asked Will, stretching his legs.

"They're probably magicked," Quin shrugged, though it was hard to see him in the dark.

"This is crazy," Beth whispered, hugging her knees to her chest. "What are we _doing _here?"

Will sighed his agreement. "Someone's going to notice we're gone soon."

Quin sniffed. "Fat lot of good they'll be able to do about it," he pointed out. "Come on – isn't this the most exciting thing that's _ever _happened to you?"

Beth squinted at him – she was sure he was genuinely joyful to be in this position – caught between Death Eaters residing on an evil island on one side, and the Magical Law Enforcement on the other, not to mention Professor Granger who would probably expel them on the spot if they were caught… "You're actually crazy," she told him, blandly.

"Speak for yourself. You're the fools that followed me."

The argument continued, rather half-heartedly, between Quin and William. Beth tried to make herself comfortable and listened with one ear to the boys, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.

oO0Oo

Harry thought he might have been holding his breath for all the time it took for the van to reach its destination. This was not nearly as long as it should have been – he had a feeling the driver might be cheating.

He knew there must be a reason for the vans, but they certainly were not the mode of wizarding transportation he would have preferred; he didn't need a repeat of the horrific throwing-up incident of two weeks earlier when he'd stumbled, delirious and half-blind, off the Knight Bus outside Hogwarts grounds. He closed his eyes, ignoring Hermione, listening to the idle chatter of the trainees and trying not to think about what he would have to do. Even Draco remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout the rest of the journey – Harry imagined he must be concentrating on keeping up with the van so that his ghostly body would not be left behind, but perhaps he was thinking about it as well.

When they did finally stop he opened his eyes to find Hermione staring at him. She looked away hurriedly as their eyes met, but he hadn't missed it. The doors opened, and the smell and sound of the sea flooded Harry's senses. He breathed it in, almost with relief. He had listened to that sound, breathed that salty air, for the last four years. It felt oddly like being home.

Several of the trainees stumbled out of the van clutching their stomachs. Obviously Harry wasn't the only one who'd found the bumpy ride in the dark to be unhealthy. Harry and Hermione joined them, sticking close to the main group so they would not be singled out. They had parked on the same strip of ugly beach that Harry had washed up on two weeks ago.

"Look familiar?" asked Hermione, sensing his unease.

"Very," Harry replied, watching the man who appeared to be the leader of their little party. He was waving them towards some unstable looking row-boats bobbing up and down on the waves, not far off shore. "Who's that?" he asked Hermione, momentarily forgetting that as an ex-part-time-Auror, he should probably already know.

"Patrick Connolly," Hermione replied, apparently not noticing his slip-up. "The Deputy Head of the Department."

Harry mentally strengthened his resolve. _I can do this_, he thought. _No problem. _

Hermione had him by the arm and was dragging him towards a boat with two older men already seated in it. "Remember," she hissed. "You're a Law Academy trainee."

oO0Oo

The supplies were also loaded onto a boat. The three Hogwarts students waited on the beach, shivering in the sea air under the invisibility cloak. It was dark, and there were hardly any stars visible even in this remote area. To Beth it seemed as though they were standing beneath a blanket of bitumen-grey fog.

"There!" said Quin, spotting a space on the boat where they might just fit, if they squeezed. Beth really hoped that no one else had been saving that spot for themselves, but when they climbed aboard and a man on shore flicked his wand at the boat, causing it to start moving slowly away from the shore, an even worse fear was realised.

What they were doing was insane, and they could hardly blame Quin for it, since, as he had pointed out, Beth and William were under no obligation to follow him anywhere. Nevertheless, thanks to him they were all now on a boat – with no escape route except to tumble out and swim for land – headed for the Isle of Death.

Oh, this was such a bad idea.

oO0Oo

There were more boats than there were vans, so there were less people in each of the boats. Hermione had made a good choice – their boat contained only four people and the two other men had already graduated from the Academy, so they were unlikely to be suspicious of the two bogus trainees. As the boats started magically to move and Harry's stomach started to churn – though perhaps not with seasickness – Hermione peered worriedly into the gloom ahead. It was a quiet night, for all it was dark and the sea rolled threateningly beneath them, but nothing could be seen ahead save for the horizon. "How far out is it?" she asked the men, cautiously. "I can't see anything."

"You won't," one of the men shrugged. "It's meant to be invisible."

Something clicked suddenly in Harry's brain and he remembered Draco's words of what seemed like so long ago now. _Invisible… and go-throughable, if you don't know it's there. _Worry started to creep into his mind.

The man in the boat at the head of the small fleet – a tall man with a red face- started to wave the boats forward. No one seemed to know what they were heading for, but surely once they got close enough….

Suddenly Harry's breath caught in his throat as a great monstrosity of an island castle loomed up ahead The towers were tall and black, the waves crashed terribly against the sharp rocks it was built on. His knuckles went white as he clutched the edge of the boat.

"Mark?" Hermione prompted, having to raise her voice a little now over the sound of the waves.

He could not answer; his mouth opened and nothing came out. This was a place of nightmare. He looked up to the highest tower and his heartbeat thudded in his ears as he remembered the long, long fall from that height, the rain pounding around him as he tumbled towards the rocks below…

"Mark?"

The boat was suddenly moving away from the castle, drifting to the right, as were all the boats. Connolly was pointing in the wrong direction – _surely _they could see it?

He turned to Hermione. "It's that way," he croaked, and pointed. The two men in their boat glanced at him in surprise.

"How do you know?" one of them snapped.

Hermione looked back at him, helplessly. "Turn around," Harry told the men, feeling his voice turn hollow. "Look!" He stabbed his finger in the direction of the castle. The men squinted. Then one of them sat back with a gasp of shock, causing the little boat to rock dangerously.

"Turn around!" he shouted towards the head of the fleet. "I can see it! Turn around!"

Connolly seemed to hesitate for a moment before waving his wand, which moved the boats in the right direction. Harry waited impatiently before reaching up and grabbing one of the rocks, hauling himself onto it before the boat could capsize. With this, there was an awed silence as everyone stopped seeing Harry standing in midair, and started to see the island.

Harry helped Hermione up onto the rocks, keeping one eye at all times on the colossal, ugly structure not ten feet away. His skin crawled; his perforated arm and maimed hand ached. Every instinct, every fibre of his being was screaming at him to _get away_, but that was no longer an option.

The trainees and the soldiers came ashore, leaving the boats behind. They apparently didn't need to be tied to anything to remain where they had been left. This mystery, however, was soon forgotten by all as Connolly turned to them all and raised his wand. This seemed to be a signal, as everyone drew their own wands in reply. Harry had no wand to draw. Instead he looked around at the faces of the trainees, all of whom now looked childlike and terrified. Again he thought he saw a flash of familiar red hair in the crowd, but it was soon lost to his sight.

It was not the stealthiest approach. They stumbled over the rock to the entrance, a small stone door baring a symbol carved into the surface, like a snake encircling a crescent moon, and runes written around it. Harry and Hermione were at the front of the group and could see them clearly. Hermione read; "Let all those who enter know, that friends must come and go in silence, and enemies once entered, may never again return."

"Cheery," Harry remarked.

Connolly called forward two more men, wearing a scarlet insignia on the back of their robes. "Curse-breakers," Hermione whispered. They waved their wands furiously at the door, which resisted for a full fifteen minutes before finally grinding inwards, leaving Connolly to push it fully open before the space was big enough for anyone to get through. He waved them past in silence.

Harry had no idea where he was. The only parts of the castle he was at all familiar with were his own cell, the chamber, and the long winding passageway Draco had led him up in order to reach Lucius' room to make his escape. This was a high corridor, with torch brackets set systematically in the walls, the flickering flames of the torches echoing in the space. Otherwise, it was eerily quiet, and Harry's strength seemed to wane at every step. He found himself breathing heavily and clenching his fists.

It was a tight fit for over a hundred people, and Harry walked at least thirty paces before the stone door slid shut behind them. Suddenly the torches flickered out, and there was a communal gasp as everyone found themselves unable to see even the person in front of them. Harry knew then with absolutely certainly that the inhabitants of the castle were aware of their presence. Connolly shouted something and people started moving past Harry, following Connolly forward. Hermione moved with them, abandoning Harry in the rush. He pressed himself against the wall until everyone had moved past, unable to force himself to move with them. They were all going to get killed, he realised, breathing loudly in the silence they left behind.

"Draco?" he whispered. There was no answer. He was alone.

Realising he had no choice, he started off in the direction Connolly had led the trainees, following the sound of footsteps up ahead and feeling his way along the wall with one hand. He had almost caught up to them when the sound of the footsteps changed, and he soon realised why. They had gone through some sort of entrance, and the shape of their surroundings had changed. They were moving steadily in military fashion into a large hall, where the echoes were louder and more varied. It was still as dark as starless night all around them, and Harry fumbled his way to the back of the group, which seemed to have stopped at last.

"Lumos!" someone shouted. The room was illuminated in wand light.

Harry looked up and felt his heart stop. Surrounding them now were rows and rows of masked figures in black robes, all with their wands pointed straight at the group of trainees, who it was now clear were seriously outnumbered. The door closed behind them and Harry knew without looking that no one would be able to get out that way. None of them would get out alive.

For a moment there was silence as no one moved. Then Harry heard a voice that made the very blood in his veins turn to ice. The voice laughed, a sharp, high-pitched sound – a female voice. From behind a row of Death Eaters stepped the unmasked Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry had not seen the woman in months, but he felt the pain of all the wounds over years of pain and terror return at the mere sight of her. He took an involuntary step backwards and felt his back collide with the stone wall as Hermione, who was now beside him, lifted her hands to her mouth in shock.

The woman standing now in front of the formidable force was unmistakeably pregnant. Her robe shifted over her swollen belly as she raised her arms above her head in a languorous stretch.

Harry realised why they weren't moving – Connolly had a hand up to stop anyone from attacking the Death Eaters. He realised why when Bellatrix gave Connolly a little wave. "Welcome," she announced, her voice filling the hall without effort. "And thank you for coming."

Harry heard mutterings from all around, whispering. Connolly took a few steps forward to stand beside the assembled Death Eaters, and the trainees twigged. There was a shout of anger and several wands were raised. Connolly and those around him shouted "_Protego_!" and the spells aimed towards them faded into nothingness.

They were betrayed. Harry looked around frantically – he had to get out of here, hide somewhere, then wait his chance… he could be the only hope for these fighters, surely there was _something _he could do…

Bellatrix laughed again, twirling in an uncoordinated dance in the centre of the room. One of the masked men came forward to take her arm. "Hush now, dearest," he said to her. "Don't excite yourself."

Harry _loathed_ that voice. Rodolphus Lestrange. Acting on some wild instinct, he started to inch his way through the crowd, using sheer determination to keep moving. People stared at him in a mixture of confusion and fear as he made his way through, always keeping one eye on what was happening up ahead.

Suddenly Bellatrix stopped laughing. She took a deep breath, as if tasting something on the air. "Where are you, darling?" she asked the air in front of her.

"I'm right here, my dear," was Rodolphus' reply, but Harry, with a sudden chill of abject horror, realised she had been talking to _him._ He stopped moving.

Bellatrix pushed her husband away. "He's here," she whispered, excitement and malice in her voice. "He has returned to me." She drew her wand and pointed it at the group of trainees standing right in front of Harry. "Move," she demanded. They started to back away, uncertain of what she wanted – Harry couldn't move another inch, he was frozen to the floor and any second now she was going to find him and it would all be over…

Suddenly an overexcited Death Eater let loose a curse. It shot unchecked into the group of trainees, and Harry saw out of the corner of his eye a body fall limply to the ground.

There was a pause, and then a roar of noise as the trainees launched themselves on the enemy, who, despite superior manpower and experience, took a crucial moment to respond. The hall erupted into a battlefield in a matter of seconds, and Harry very nearly missed having his ear sliced off by a stray curse until he dove out of the way.

He looked around and saw Hermione, fighting calmly back-to-back with a tall dark-haired senior trainee. The room began to fill with screams as the Death Eaters came into their own, and Unforgivable curses started flying around. As he headed towards Hermione, a dead weight slammed into him and then fell to the ground. A young girl.

Harry knew without having to examine her that she was dead, but his attention was suddenly caught by the wooden object which rolled out her hand and rolled along the floor to land against his foot A little numb, he picked it up, brushing his fingertips against the slight bumps and depressions it had gained through years of use He gripped the wand in his fist, wondering vaguely if he would be able to use it. He hadn't even held a wand in four years…

Suddenly a masked Death Eater loomed up in front of him and silently raised his wand. "PROTEGO!" Harry shouted, without even thinking. The Death Eater's curse rebounded and hit the man straight in the chest. He fell over backwards, giving Harry a clear view of Hermione once again. He grinned, and span around to give the other masked idiot who had been approaching him something to remember him by.

The battle took a turn for the worse quite quickly. Someone was yelling, "CAPTURE! Not kill, capture them!" and trainee after trainee were finding themselves surrounded and forced to sit in groups on the ground. Soon there were just a handful of trainees plus Harry and Hermione on the loosing side of the actual fighting.

Suddenly Harry turned to find himself face to face with Ron.

He knew it was him instantly; it was as if they'd never been apart and they were meeting the day after Ron's eighteenth birthday party over breakfast to talk with the other boys about which of them had managed to get back to the castle without getting detention for drunk and disorderly behaviour.

But Harry had never got back to the castle that day, and now Ron was frowning at him. Then he was raising his wand and shouting something that Harry, in his panic, didn't even hear. He raised his own wand to defend himself, too late, but before he knew it the spell had shot past his shoulder. He turned to see a Death Eater slump senseless to the ground just two feet from where he was standing.

"Nice shot," he said, looking up.

"Thanks," Ron panted. "Behind you."

Harry turned, as did Ron, so that they were back to back.

"That's him!" he heard Lestrange screech, although he couldn't see her from his angle. "Bring him to me!" Suddenly he found himself faced with three Death Eaters – he got one down before one of the others grazed him with the Cruciatus Curse. He felt a ripple of pain shoot through his body, and then someone had him by the arm and was dragging him away from Ron. He looked around to see his friend lower his wand in the face of five advancing Death Eaters, who herded the remaining trainees, and Hermione, into the last group of captives. They remained standing.

Both his arms were in a vice of iron. He struggled against his captors as he was dragged across the floor. He managed to look back and catch Hermione's eye for a split second. For a moment he was certain he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, but he had no time to dwell on it before he was thrust to his knees at the feet of the woman he had come to fear second only to Voldemort himself.

He kept his eyes fixed on the stone floor, trying to ignore the familiar copper scent that reached his nostrils at her nearness. She always smelt of blood.

He flinched when he felt her long-fingered hand on his head. "You ran away from me, my sweet," she said into the silence.

He looked up at her, gathering what little courage he had left to meet her eyes, which were black as sin. "Well I thought I might have overstayed my welcome," he replied, his voice growing hoarser as his throat lost the motivation to cooperate with his brain.

"And yet you return," she mused, sending darts of cold along his spine as she ran her fingernails along his scalp. "Why?"

Harry felt much-needed rage rise within him. "Why do you think?" he spat. Lestrange stood back and snapped her fingers. One of the huge men beside Harry brought his fist down on the side of his face, sending him sprawling. He tasted blood.

"Now, now," Bellatrix laughed. "You know I don't stand for insolence, Harry."

Harry heard a sound that was half-gasp, half muffled scream, from somewhere behind him. He opened his eyes to see Bellatrix look up, her brow slightly furrowed. "What's the matter, little girl?" she asked, signalling Harry's guards to pick him up again. He felt his arms held so tightly he thought they might break as he was lifted to face Hermione, Ron standing just behind her, wands still in their hands.

Hermione was staring at him with wide eyes. "Harry?" she whispered, a sob in her voice.

He looked away as the woman beside him burst out laughing, genuine laughter this time but still with the sickening edge of malice. "Oh dear!" she cackled. "They didn't know, did they? You brought them all the way here and they didn't even _know_!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, unable to meet her eyes.

"It's just too sweet!" Bellatrix continued.

"No," said another voice, momentarily silencing Bellatrix's piercing laughter. It was Ron. "No, Hermione," he said. "That's not him. It doesn't even look like him. Harry's dead."

Harry had been expecting this, but he felt his heart sink all the same. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bellatrix motion with one hand and dark shapes move forward.

"Ron!" he yelled in warning. The redhead raised his wand and managed to stun one of the approaching Death Eaters before both he and Hermione were seized from behind.

Bellatrix flicked her wand casually, reviving the stunned Death Eater.

"Harry, Harry…" she chided, turning to leer grotesquely at him. "Must you always try to spoil my fun?"

"Sure, when it involves you torturing my friends," he replied, glaring at her.

Bellatrix reached forward and lovingly ran a delicate hand down his cheek, making him shiver. Then she drew back her hand and slapped him with unnatural strength. His head snapped to the side, and only the men holding him kept him from falling. The long, slender fingers curled around his throat and tightened until he had to struggle to breathe. She leaned towards him and he pulled back, but the thug on his left twisted his arm to the brink of breaking point while shoving him forward. Cold lips pressed to his. He felt the bile rising as she broke away.

"You didn't answer me," she said into the silence. "Why did you come back? Was it for me?"

She stepped back, leaving him to regain his breath as she ran a loving hand over her swollen belly.

"…or for your son?"

oO0Oo


	15. Basium Poena

**Still Alive**

**15**

"…_or for your son?"_

oO0Oo

No one, including Harry, had any time to react. A loud bang rocked the room, for all it was made of stone, as everyone jumped and looked around, including the Death Eaters who were supposed to be guarding the captives. The doors had slammed open. What stood behind them was all that was left of the former Lucius Malfoy.

Unmasked and wearing robes which must once have been of the finest quality, but were now rumpled and stained, he stood with a defeated hunch to his shoulders and his long hair in disarray.

His voice, when it spoke, was laced with madness.

"What is going on here?" he demanded, taking a step into the hall.

"Nothing, Lucius," said Bellatrix, waving one hand as f he was a fly she was trying to swat. "Just a little soirée, that's all."

"I'm in charge here, woman!" Malfoy raged. "How dare you stage an ambush without my permission?"

"We thought we oughtn't to bother you," she replied, turning back to Harry as if she, at least, was of the opinion that the conversation was over. "It's a trivial matter."

"Trivial?" Malfoy spluttered, in a fine display of his own lack of self-control. "There must be a hundred Aurors – "

"Not Aurors," Rodolphus Lestrange interrupted. Up until this point he'd apparently been content to stand back and watch his wife at work, although some of the more observant captives noted that his hands were twitching, as if with suppressed rage. "Most of them are little more than children. Barely a challenge."

"We would have beaten you if Connolly wasn't a dirty, lying traitor!" yelled one of the captured trainees from the center of a large group. There was a brief, ugly pause.

"You sacrificed Connolly?" Malfoy hissed. "The Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Rodolphus stared at him in mock admiration. "Amazing. You remembered all that."

"Now, now, Rolphy," sang Bellatrix, who was now fingering Harry's hair critically. "Don't tease him."

"Why not?" her husband snapped. "It's pathetic. One year in Azkaban and he can barely tell what time of day it is. We should send him back for an extra thirteen, see how _he _likes it."

"How dare –" Malfoy began to scream, but then paused, staring straight at Harry. "Is that – Potter?"

Rodolphus lips curled into a smile. "I imagine the Master will be overjoyed with _us_," he replied. "What have you achieved this week, Lucius?"

"What have you done to your hair, Harry?" Bellatrix was asking, in a babyish tone of voice. "It looks like you've hacked at it with a knife."

"That's fairly accurate," Harry muttered, trying not to look at the bulge under her robe.

"That man went into my room!" Malfoy shouted, most uncharacteristically. It was almost comical. "He stole my property! Give him to me!"

"Don't be silly, Lucius," Bellatrix replied.

"He corrupted my son!" Malfoy shrieked.

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. "_I _corrupted him?" he protested. "You're the one who chucked him in a cel and left him to be tortured and killed!"

"My son was a fine man before you came along," Malfoy seethed. He took two steps forward, but stopped when Rodolphus Lestrange idly drew his wand, turning it between his fingers in a vaguely threatening way.

"Your son was a liar and a spy," he said, "and Potter's association with him gives you no claim. My wife has a right to custody."

"Why, because she's carrying his brat?" Malfoy spat. "Have you _no_ self-respect, Rodolphus?"

Lestrange bristled visibly. "We will not discuss this here," he hissed angrily.

"Don't let me interrupt," said a voice from somewhere behind Malfoy. The man spun around so fast he almost fell over his robe. "Draco?" he croaked, staring into the empty air.

Rodolphus turned to face the rest of the Death Eaters, who had been watching the scene with interest. "It's just the ghost," he announced, firmly. "_At your posts._" When he turned back, however, it was to find that Draco Malfoy had just materialized behind him.

"_Just _the ghost?" said Draco incredulously, folding his arms across his chest. "_Just_?"

Lestrange made a late attempt to hide his surprise. "I should have known," he said. "Where Potter goes, you're not far behind, are you?"

Harry's heart had lifted at last at the sight of his friend. "Dray," he croaked. "Now would be a really good time for some help…"

"Working on it," the ghost replied. He punched. His arm went straight through Rodolphus' chest, effectively encasing his heart in ice. Harry saw the man gasp and stumble, before suddenly Draco was gone and in his place was a half-transparent silvery blur that sped around the hall, leaving chaos in its wake as it passed through anyone in a dark robe and mask.

It took a few moments, but there was soon a roar of noise as the trainees, as one, rose up behind their captors and attacked. Harry waited until the grip on his arms loosened before tearing away. Ignoring Bellatrix's shrieks of rage he ducked under the grasping arms of his captors and ran for it. When he was on the other side of the hall, with a convenient melée between him and Bellatrix, he stopped to breathe.

"My work is done," said Draco from beside him.

"Better late than never," Harry panted, scanning the battle for familiar faces. Ron and Hermione were somewhere in the middle, he was sure, but he couldn't see them.

"You were doing just fine without me," Draco scoffed.

"You noticed that, huh?"

Taken by surprise, and still reeling from the effects of a dead person moving through them at high speed, the Death Eaters had had the tables thoroughly turned on them. Shouts of triumph rang out as the trainees took the upper hand and wielded it like a hammer.

"So what now?" Draco asked, watching with interest as a group of trainees knocked out three Death Eaters simultaneously.

Harry ducked to the left to avoid being hit by a stray curse or three. One of them went through Draco and hit the wall. "I do what I came here to do," he replied, eyes still on the fighting.

"Do you think you can?" Draco asked him.

Harry spared him a cursory glance. "Just find her," he said. "Let me deal with the technicalities."

Draco rolled his eyes, but rose gracefully above the fighting, eventually moving away and out of sight. Harry was left to fend for himself. The wand he'd recovered was gone – it must have been taken, or he dropped it in the confusion, he wasn't sure. All he could do was dodge. After what seemed like hours, Draco floated back down beside him, causing two Death Eaters who had been about to approach Harry to think better of it.

"They're not here!" he shouted over the roar of battle.

"What?"

"They're gone – they must have made it out the door!"

Harry looked around at the open door, even as two more Death Eaters made good their escape.

"They're heading to the Apparition point," Draco told Harry as he swore and started to run along the wall in the direction of the door. "If they've made it out then we've lost them."

Harry had no breath to answer. He made it out of the door without looking back and followed Draco's instructions as the corridors spread out before him like an elaborate maze, it's walls lined with dark, ominous-looking doors.

Suddenly he stopped, leaving Draco to momentarily carry on without him. On the edge of his hearing he thought he had detected a sound he had never even imagined he would hear.

Draco realized Harry wasn't following him and swooped on back. "What are you – "

"Listen," Harry said, standing stock still as if the barest movement might block the sound. They listened. It came again. A woman screaming – a low, gutteral scream that echoed as if rising up through earth and stone to meet them.

"That's her," said Harry, with certainty. Draco didn't need to ask whether he was sure.

"But why – " he began, but found himself talking to empty air. "Harry? Harry, where are you going?"

Harry had turned and taken off in the opposite direction. The scream came again, urging him on, and it grew louder as he ran up hallways and down staircases, surrounding him and piercing his heart and brain. He felt nothing and everything as he ran, with Draco behind him, until he stopped again at the entrance to an enclosed staircase, barely lit by the dim torchlight.

He knew where he was now, and he found himself suddenly suppressing the urge to vomit. When the fourth scream came, it was louder than ever before, and it came from the bottom of that staircase. The mixed emotions, which before had been churning like acid in his stomach, drained away.

"Down there?" Draco wondered out loud. "Why? What's he doing to her?"

"You think Rodolphus is hurting her?" asked Harry, who doubted it. Rodolphus was a jealous, sadistic bastard, made just as insane as Bellatrix by years in Azkaban, but he loved his wife. No matter what she did.

Suddenly, Harry felt a stabbing pain at the back of his head and the stone wall blurred before his eyes. There was a loud ringing in his ears and it took him a moment to realize that Draco was speaking.

" – suprising," he was saying, peering down into the blackness. He may as well have been trying to see the bottom of a well at midnight.

Harry felt his legs weaken; he reached out for the wall to steady himself. _Not now! _he thought desperately. _Any time but now!_

Draco was staring at him. Harry took a deep breath and told himself he was just dizzy from all the running. "Haven't had so much exercise in years," he muttered.

"Are we going down there?" Draco asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"You're not," said Harry. "Go back to the hall and find Hermione. Show her and the others where the dungeons are and help them get the prisoners out, will you? Don't wait for me."

"Or," Draco argued, "I could go down there with you and afterwards we could both find Granger and free the prisoners."

"There's no time," Harry snapped, feeling guilt well up inside him at his deception. "What if all those Death Eaters who Apparated away were going for back-up? The MLE have to get the hell out of here, fast, before Voldemort himself arrives with cavalry, okay?"

Draco looked like he wanted to argue more, but Harry turned and took the first step onto the stone stairs, ending the conversation. Behind him, he heard the faint whooshing noise that was Draco taking a short cut through the ceiling. He supposed some words of luck and encouragement, in this instance, would be too much to ask.

Harry stood on the step, unmoving, his eyes closed. He found himself doubting that he would ever see his ghostly friend again, and said a silent goodbye. His hands were shaking, and he felt the weakness spreading. What he needed now was far away – in a bottle in the bathroom of Mark Jenson's house in Cambridge.

He opened his eyes. Well. There was only one thing left to do.

oO0Oo

Beth, Quin and William were hopelessly lost.

They had only just made it into the castle, huddled together under the invisibility cloak, before the rune-marked doors shut close behind them. Staying far behind the MLE had seemed to be the best idea at first, up until the point when the trainees poured into a large room up ahead of them, and the doors were closed, leaving the three Hogwarts students in darkness.

Beth shivered under the cloak. After a moment, the sounds of fighting came from behind the doors. Quin swore. "You should be glad we're not in there," said William darkly.

Beth heard screams and felt her stomach turn. "People are dying in there," she whispered.

The boys looked at her, then at each other. Beth saw the worry in their faces. "Let's go," said Quin, adjusting the cloak over his head and grabbing her arm.

Together they moved away from the battle spot, until the sounds of curses and screaming were faint and Beth started breathing normally again. "Are you okay?" Quin asked, sounding genuinely worried. "You're white as a sheet."

"I'm okay," Beth lied.

"Brilliant idea, Quinton," said William. They both turned to look at him an shrank back a little. The anger in his owl-like eyes was quite frightening.

"I just wanted – " Quin tried to defend himself.

"Yeah, we've heard it," William snapped. "You wanted adventure, you wanted to make sure Professor Granger was all right – well, here's news for you. She's a grown-up, we're _thirteen_. All we've done by coming here is put ourselves in danger."

"Point taken," said Quin, suddenly quite pale himself. "So what do we do now?"

William looked around. "Getting the hell out of here seems like a good first step," he said.

And so it was that half an hour later, they were still wandering the corridors of Ynys Addoed, and Beth, though she might not admit it to her friends, was starting to panic. "This is stupid," Quin was saying. "They could at least put signs, up, or something – "

"Shh," said William, suddenly. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Shut up! Listen."

Beth heard it the second time, a woman's scream, coming from somewhere in the direction they'd been heading.

"That's not good," Quin whispered.

"Someone's coming," said William.

"What? How do you know?"

The other boy made no reply, but pulled them all against the wall, double-checking that they were fully covered by the invisibility cloak. It was a full minute before Beth heard the footsteps, coming towards them from the direction they had come. Her heart leapt when the footsteps' owner turned the corner and came hurtling towards them. It was Mr. Jenson, and floating along behind him was the Malfoy ghost they'd found in Mr. Jenson's room – it seemed like years ago.

They ran past, and Beth made a decision. "Come on!" she hissed.

Quin and William were almost pulled over as she ran forward, dragging them by the cloak. They could hardly argue when they were within such close range of the pursuit, so they ran with her, Quin muttering "we're going to die, we're going to die…" under his breath.

They turned a corner and skidden back around it when they saw that Jenson and the ghost had stopped a short way up ahead. They listened.

" – no time," Jenson was saying. "What if all those Death Eaters who Apparated away were going for back-up? The MLE have to get the hell out of here, fast, before Voldemort himself arrives with cavalry, okay?"

Then he took a step down into the darkness, and the ghost, with a frustrated toss of the head, flew upwards, straight through the stone ceiling and out of sight.

Beth moved forward, but felt a cold hand on her arm. "Are you crazy?" hissed William.

"We have to go with him!" she insisted. "What if something happens to him and they leave him behind?"

"What if something happens to _us _and _we _get left behind?" Quin protested. "I'm with Will on this one, Bee. We're not going down there."

"Fine," said Beth, pulling away from William's grip and ducking out from under the cloak. "I'll go by myself." She attempted to appear confident.

She stared in the direction of Quin and Will, although since they were both still under the cloak she could only see the stone wall and flickering torch behind them. "You're a bad influence on her," said William's voice, eventually.

Beth grinned, knowing she had won, and went to the stairs. Mr. Jenson must have reached the bottom by now, for she couldn't even see him. The boys came up either side of her and thrust the cloak over her head.

"Once more into the breach," Quin sighed.

oO0Oo

The screaming had stopped. From inside the Chamber there came the sound of low voices, though from the other side of the thick oak door, he couldn't hear what was being said.

Harry rested his hand against the door, feeling a lot of his newfound courage drain away at the feel of the smooth wooden surface. For four years he had known only two places – his cell, and this room. Usually referred to only as the 'Chamber', the very mention of it could and did strike fear into the heart of prisoners and Death Eaters alike.

It was where pain and death lived and thrived. The heart of the hated fortress. It was hell.

He stood there for a moment, unsure of what he expected to happen. Nothing did. He took a final, shuddering breath, and knocked.

"Go away," called Rodolphus' voice.

_Sorry_, Harry thought. _No can do._ He opened the door.

The Chamber was oblong, with a high ceiling and walls and floors of stone, just like the rest of the castle. In it's centre stood a long table, the purpose of its design clearly discernible from the thick leather ties affixed to metal rings set into the thick wood and the black-brown stains that marred its surface.

The walls were lined with workbenches on which lay over a hundred tools of the Lestranges' trade. Most of them had to be sharpened regularly. In the corner was a wide, shallow tank. Regular hissing noises emerged from it.

None of this was suprising to Harry as he entered, leaving the door open behind him, and he took all of it in at a glance. Rodolphus Lestrange was standing beside the table, looking up at Harry in horror, his hand reaching immediately into his robes for his wand. But Harry barely looked at him. He stared in horror at Bellatrix Lestrange, who was sitting on the table. He smelt fresh blood, and saw that her robes were stained an even darker black.

There was a bundle in her arms: something wrapped in a cloak. As he raised his eyes to meet hers, a cry emitted from it. The sound froze his heart. He was too late.

"Avada Kadavra!" yelled Rodolphus, just as Bellatrix called out "No!" and tried to stop her husband by grasping awkwardly at his robes.

An old instinct rose within Harry, and he found himself diving towards the ground, holding out his hands to break his fall on the stone. He rolled, just in time to avoid a second curse as it dented the stone where he had just been lying.

He came up on the other side of the room, beside the snake tank. He looked into it. Four unblinking yellow eyes stared up at him. _Hungry, _was the hiss.

Beside the tank was a long silver dagger, beautifully crafted, and very familiar. Without thinking, he closed his hand around it.

He looked back up, just in time to hear the shout and see another flash of green come his way. He ducked, and heard the smash of glass above him as the tank exploded. The hissing did not stop, but became louder. Angrier.

Two long, moving objects fell on either side of him. He felt the puncture marks on his right arm burn just as he heard Lestrange swearing and revving himself up for another curse.

_Stop_, Harry hissed, as a blur of yellow, black and brown whipped around towards him. The snakes stilled. They stared up at him. He stared back. The krait, with the yellow and black bands, and the brown tiger snake, both about two metres long. They were under orders, but now they were surprised. They'd been biting this one for years. They hadn't realized he was a snake-speaker. _Hungry_, the krait whined.

Harry pointed. _Him. _

Rodolphus Lestrange was staring in horror. "What… what did you tell them?" he stammered.

"What do you think?" Harry replied, the pain in his arm easing. The snakes slithered forward

Lestrange raised his wand with a shaking arm. "No," he said, desperately. "Get back! REDUCTO!" The tiger snake went flying and hit the wall, landing while still in its death throes, torn almost in half by the curse.

The krait, however, darted forward and closed its fangs around the man's leg. Rodolphus screamed. He flailed, sparks emitting from his wand as he lurched backwards and tried to tug the snake away from him. The krait held firm, its tail lashing from side to side. Rodolphus clutched at his throat, gasping for air as he collapsed to the floor, his other hand scrabbling desperately at the floor.

Harry stood up shakily, brushing shards of glass out of his hair. Eyes wide, Rodolphus gasped, one final attempt at life. Harry closed his eyes, and when he opened them, there was a corpse on the floor. At the edge of his hearing he heard the complaint, _I prefer lizards._

Bellatrix had sat still through the whole thing, watching her husband fight in vain for his life. Now she slid off the table, holding the bundle close to her with one arm as she took a step back towards the counter, reaching one arm behind her for balance. Her eyes met Harry. "You killed him," she said, like a naïve child.

"No," said Harry. "That snake did. It didn't have to do what I told it. I guess it's used to taking orders, by now."

Bellatrix looked down at the snake, which was now undulating across Rodolphus' unmoving chest, as if trying to figure out the best way to start. "Will it eat him?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.

"Maybe," said Harry, who suddenly regretted having done a project on snakes in his sixth year. Of all the information to remember after so long. "Kraits don't usually eat anything bigger than another snake. But that one seems pretty hungry. Guess he hasn't eaten in a while."

"Oh," she said, looking back up at him. Harry became slowly aware that they were having a conversation – a sordid one, to be sure, but a conversation nonetheless. His eyes went to the bundle in the woman's arms. He could hear Draco's voice in his mind, telling him that this was not how they had planned it, that he was too late and there was no way now that he could do what he had meant…

"He's early," Bellatrix said, alerting him once more to her presence.

"Yes," was all he could say.

"And fast. I thought it would take longer."

"Yes."

"The Master will be pleased, when he gets back."

"Yes."

She looked up him, and he saw that she was mad. He had known that before, of course, but before it had always been a malicious, cold madness that fed her need for blood and pain and death.

The death of her husband had broken Bellatrix Lestrange. She was little more than a child in a woman's body now, seeing little, understanding less. A shadow of a young woman who had been married to a man her father chose and had killed her first Muggle before she was nineteen. A girl who'd had friends at school, taken her NEWTs and been drowned in a world she couldn't possibly fight against. Harry saw all this and felt all his resolve fade away.

"Or maybe not," Bellatrix continued, rocking the bundle absently. "Maybe we could take care of him. And he wouldn't ever have to be…" she met his eyes once more. "You came here to kill him, didn't you?" she said. "I thought it was to take him away from me and have him for yourself, but you… you came to kill him. And me."

Harry sighed. "Yes."

She stared at him. "I hurt you."

There was another stabbing pain at the back of his head, and this time it wasn't physiological. He had left it too long. It was taking all his energy to stand, and it was getting hard to breathe. "Yes," he said, resigning himself to his fate. This was where he was meant to die; he'd known it for years. He'd had two weeks of freedom, but this was his life. Here, in this chamber, on that table. He should die here. He had failed.

"You want to kill our baby."

He took a rasping breath. "No," he said. "No, not anymore. I don't have the strength."

"Liar."

He saw her turn and place the bundle on the counter, heard the baby's cry. His son's cry. Tears pricked at his eyes. There was nothing he could do now. He leaned against the table for support, feeling pain begin to spread through his body. Old pains, pains he had near forgotten. All returning.

Bellatrix turned back to him, and he noticed vaguely that there was something metal and shiny in her hand. It looked like a spike, the sort used for removing eyes and other necessary organs. "I won't let you hurt our baby, Harry," she was saying, though the words seemed to come from very far away. "I can't let you."

There was a blur of movement in front of him – she was coming towards him with the spike raised, and all he could do was weakly raise his hand in self-defence…

He felt a sharp pain below his ribs and realised the spike had hit home, even as he realised that he was still holding the silver dagger.

Bellatrix's eyes widened as she looked down at her still-rotund belly, the dagger hilt emerging from it like a crucifix. She touched a long-fingered hand to it before looking up at Harry, who stared at her now through a black haze. Her eyes glazed over and she fell, just as his legs buckled and the blackness became everything.

oO0Oo

10. Bellatrix's Lullaby – Lullaby for a Stormy Night – Vienna Teng

11. Stabbed – Dare You To Move - Switchfoot


	16. Still Breathing

_Bellatrix's eyes widened as she looked down at her still-rotund belly, the dagger hilt emerging from it like a crucifix. She touched a long-fingered hand to it before looking up at Harry, who stared at her now through a black haze. Her eyes glazed over and she fell, just as his legs buckled and the blackness became everything._

**Still Alive**

**16**

For a moment, there was silence in the Chamber. Then, out of nowhere, appeared three young Hogwarts students, who had been standing in the doorway throughout the entire exchange.

Beth took one final look at the dead Rodolphus Lestrange, and then at poor Mr. Jenson and the dark-haired woman fallen on top of him, and felt her stomach turn. She fell to her knees and threw up everything she had eaten that day. William laid his cold hand on her neck while Quin folded his cloak back into his bag. "Do… do you think that snake will go for us?" he asked, shakily, eyeing the creature as it slithered over the stone.

"I think it's got enough to be going on with," said William, handing Beth a tissue from his pocket. She wiped her mouth, tears flowing freely down her face. "You okay?" William asked, softly. She looked at him. He was ever paler than usual, if that was at all possible. They had just seen three people die.

"Yes," she replied, in an attempt to reassure him.

A cry from the bundle on the workbench made them all jump. "Oh crap," said Quin, who, like all of them, had forgotten about the child.

"Let me," said Beth, standing on shaking legs. She avoided looking at Mr. Jenson's body as she crossed the room, past the table which was still covered in blood and other things she really didn't want to know about, and pushed aside the cloak wrapping.

The baby gazed up at her, shocked into silence at her sudden appearance. His eyes, defying all laws of probability, were bright emerald green, set in a round, pale-skinned face topped by an already thick mop of dark hair. All in all it was quite an odd-looking baby, but nonetheless adorable, in theway all babies are to a thirteen-year-old girl.. "Oh," said Beth, reaching out to touched the wrinkled, blood-stained hand. "Poor little thing," she said, tears still lingering on her cheeks at the thought of poor Mr. Jenson. "He's an orphan already."

"We've got to get _out _of here," Quin said, urgently, sounding as if he would be the next one to lose his dinner if there wasn't some immediate action.

"We can't leave him!" Beth protested, turning to glare at her friend.

"Then get him and let's _go_," he said, glancing nervously between the bodies and the door. "It's enough of a blood bath in here as it is – I don't want to die in here, too."

"Hold on," said William, abruptly.

"_What?_"

"Just hang on a minute, will you?" William grimaced as he stepped over Lestrange to reach the other two bodies.

"What are you doing?" Quin hissed. William didn't answer as he gingerly lifted Bellatrix's body to one side.

"She called him Harry," Beth wondered out loud, picking up the little bundle and turning to look at the boys. "D'you think – "

"He's alive," said William urgently.

"What?"

William had his fingers pressed to the skin on Mr. Jenson's throat. "There's a pulse. He's alive!" He leant down to listen at the man's nose and mouth. "He's breathing."

"No way," said Quin, staring at the metal spike still sticking out of the man's torso and the blood beading slowly away from the wound, staining his clothes red.

"I need something to stop the bleeding," said William, looking around frantically.

Beth remained still, the baby staying quiet in her arms. "He's alive?" she whispered, disbelieving.

"He's indestructible," said Quin excitedly, taking off his jacket and giving it to William, kneeling beside the prone man. "Mr. Jenson? Mark? Er… Harry? Harry, can you hear me? Harry?"

"It's no good, he's unconscious?" said William, packing Quin's jacket around the wound.

"Should we take the spike out, d'you think?"

"God, no, that'd just make it worse."

"How do you know so much about this, anyway?"

"Lots of first aid."

"Right…"

The baby began to cry, loudly and in earnest this time. It had had enough surprises, and now just wanted to be fed. "Hush little one," Beth whispered to him, rocking him gently like she had her cousin Billy before he, his brother and father had been killed by Death Eaters.

"What's going – who are you? What are you doing here?"

The three children looked up. Beth saw in horror that the man in the doorway, standing not three metres from her, was in Death Eater garb, his mask pushed up and away from his pink, flabby face.

The Death Eater raised his wand and pointed it at Beth, who was the closest to him, and shouted something that Beth in her panic, barely heard. She saw a flash of green light, and felt the impact as a blurry shape knocked her and the baby to the ground. Instinctively she curled herself around the bawling infant, and felt a sharp pain in her elbow as she hit the stone floor. From far away she heard Quin shout "STUPIFY!" She vaguely remembered learning the stunning spell a few weeks ago…

"Beth! Beth, are you okay? Oh God, Will, you idiot…"

Quin was shaking her and she felt his hot tears on her face as he pulled her away.

"What? Where's – " She opened her eyes and stared in horror. William had fallen to the stone floor and lay, face-down and unmoving, beside the stunned Death Eater. "Is he – " she made a move forward, but Quin pulled her back. When she looked up at him there were tears staining his face.

"That was the killing curse," he said, a pained catch in his voice. He seemed suddenly much younger, a scared little boy who was in way over his head.

The body stirred. Quin gasped and tried to pull Beth even further back, but she broke away from him and ran to William, helping him to sit up. "Ow," he said, rubbing his head.

"But – you – the – " spluttered Quin.

"Is he okay?" William asked, motioning to the baby in Beth's arms.

"Yes," she replied, absently tucking in an edge of the folded cloak. "Are you?"

"Fine," he said, standing up. "Let's go. Quin, help me with him." He went to Harry, pushed the stained jacket aside and lifted one of the man's arms over his shoulder, looking momentarily surprised at how light he was. Quin shook his head in disbelief before ducking under the other arm.

"You really scared me, idiot," he growled, though Beth knew he wasn't really angry. "Why aren't you dead?"

"I'll explain later," he said, giving the metal spike embedded in their charge a worried glance. "For now, let's _go_."

o0O0o

The trainees had no superior officer, and a lot of the young MLE soldiers had been killed. There was now an argument over whether to go after the Death Eaters who had made good their escape, or to cut their losses and get off the island.

The hall was littered with bodies, some in Dark robes and masks, but most in MLE uniform. Beneath the arguing could be heard soft weeping, as mourning trainees knelt beside fallen friends.

Hermione was standing by the door, waving her wand carefully over a cut on Ron's forehead. Neither of them spoke – they weren't sure what they would say even if they had the motivation. Someone shouted, "I say we kill them all, the bastards!" and Ron frowned.

"Not much progress down here, I see."

Blinking, Hermione turned to see a now-familiar silvery shape in the doorway. "Malfoy?"

"Granger." The ghost took a step – well, he was standing six inches off the ground, but a step nonetheless – forward. "Weasley, you look a wreck."

"Likewise," Ron said darkly. He sounded choked. Hermione went to touch his arm, but he pushed her hand away. "At least I'm alive."

"Touché," Draco said, surprising them both. Other people were starting to notice his presence now, and the noise level dropped considerably as people turned to listen. "I bring a message, anyway. His highness requests that you follow me down to the dungeons, whereupon we shall release the prisoners and ride off into the sunrise on the billowing waves. Sound good?"

"Was that really Harry Potter?" someone shouted from the pitiful group of trainees that remained.

"No," said Ron, with no emotion in his voice.

Draco shrugged. "Whatever you like," he said. "We don't really have time to make a case." He turned to Hermione, apparently assuming that further conversation with Ron was a waste of time. "Makes sense, though, don't you think?" he said. "The Gryffindor thing to do as well, I guess. Come on, they're not going to rescue themselves. Harry reckons the escapees could be back with a vengeance. And by vengeance he means back-up, and by back-up he means Voldemort himself, understand?"

Gasps emitted from the trainees at the name, but Hermione ignored them. "Show us the way," she said.

"Hermione," Ron protested. "You're not going to trust _him_?"

"If it weren't for him we'd all be dead or captured right now, and you know it," she snapped back. "Now come do your job, will you?"

"That's right," said a voice from behind them. It was Beau, and he looked grief-stricken. "That's part of the reason why we came here – to free the prisoners. Ron – Jeanne's dead."

The colour drained from Ron's face. There was a silence as the trainees looked at each other. "Fine," he said eventually, through gritted teeth. Again he refused Hermione's hand. "Let's go."

oO0Oo

As it turned out, they found someone to rescue a while before they even reached the dungeons. Halfway down a long corridor they heard a shout from ahead. "Truce! I call truce!"

Sixty wands were raised. Hermione stood forward. "Who are you and why should we accept any truce?"

A dark shape stepped out into the torchlight. "Granger?"

Draco floated forward a little. "Blaise?"

"Holy crap, _Draco_?"

"What are you _doing _here?"

"Getting in trouble. Wow. Um. You're very…"

"Dead?"

"Well…"

"Have you been…?" Draco trailed off into nonsensical silence, before starting to laugh. "You're one of Snape's 'recruits', aren't you?"

"Thanks for just advertising that to all these people."

The figure stepped cautiously forward into the light. A few hands tightened around wands as they noticed the heavy material of a Death Eater's robe hanging off the shoulders of the dark-skinned, long-nosed young man.

"It's all right," said Draco. "He's a spy. Oh shut up," he said, when Blaise tried to object. "You won't work again after today, old friend."

Another figure stepped out from behind the corner to stand behind Blaise. If he was attempting to hide, it wasn't working. He was half Blaise's height again, dark skin and beard making him look fearsome in the meagre torchlight. "This is Hamza," said Blaise. "Recent convert."

"You're _good_," said Draco appreciatively to Blaise, floating up a metre or so to be on the eye-level of the huge man.

"Not that this isn't fascinating," said Beau suspiciously, "but don't we have somewhere to be?"

They began walking again, with Blaise and Hamza falling into step with the unappointed leaders. Hermione kept a sensible grip on her wand as Blaise filled Malfoy in on the situation.

"I've only been here a few days," he admitted. "Snape asked me to investigate it after that prisoner escaped. He told me you were dead, and I wanted… well, anyway. If getting into this place is hard, getting out is about ten times harder. I enlisted Hamza's help," he waved a hand towards the large guard. "And we were going to make a break for it, tonight. Then your lot showed up and we hid down here to figure out what to do."

"They're not my lot," Draco said defensively.

They turned the final corner and instantly came upon two guards standing in front of a large door, one of whom shouted "HEY!" and raised his wand. Before the other could join him, sixty-odd stunning spells rocketed through the air, and both men fell like stones.

"Think we killed them?" asked one of the trainees.

Wordlessly, Hamza stepped over his stunned comrades and unlocked the door with a large brass key from the ring at his belt. He seemed to have accepted his new loyalties with relative ease – perhaps too easily, but no one was going to argue when he was giving them a free pass.

When the door opened, a bout of coughing erupted amongst the trainees as the stench of blood and human filth wafted through the opening. Hermione's eyes watered and she bit her lip. Draco, unaffected, floated through the door and into the darkness of the cells. Blaise followed him, lighting his wand with a whisper. Hermione exchanged glances with Ron before hardening her resolve and joining them.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust, but as more and more trainees entered the dungeons and lit their wands, it became easier to see into the small, well-used cells lining either side of the central aisle. The first four or so were empty, but the third on the right held a middle-aged-looking man, naked to the waist, chained to the wall by his wrists. Casually, Blaise unlocked the door and then the chains with his wand. The man's eyes flickered open. "Who are you?" he asked.

"A friend," Blaise replied. He looked up at Hermione and the trainees, standing uncomfortably outside the cell door. "He's not been here long," he told them, helping the man to his feet.

"Thank you," said the man, rubbing at his wrists and blinking away tears. "Thank you."

"Not a problem," said Blaise. "Out you get, now – I'm sure one of these fine young people will take care of you. Where's…" he followed Hermione's gaze to where Draco had stopped outside one of the cells at the end. He left the trainees to helping the prisoners and jogged to catch up, noticing Hermione and Ron following behind him. "Feeling homesick?" he asked the ghost, jauntily.

Draco turned sharply to look at him. "How'd you know about…?"

"I do my job," he replied, shrugging.

Draco glanced back into his old cell, glad that ghosts couldn't feel ill. "Didn't take them long to replace me, did it?" he remarked, motioning to the sleeping man within. "Let him out, will you? Poor bastard."

Blaise obediently ushered forward some trainees, who, slightly green, helped the stricken man out of the cells and into the clean air.

"Not as many as I remember," Draco said, vaguely. "Must've been some recent deaths."

"Nice," said Ron, with a grim twitch of the mouth. It was the first thing he'd said in almost half an hour.

"Let's get out of here, Ron," said Hermione. "We've got to get these people back. There's no one in charge…"

"Yeah," he said, looking like he might want to be sick. "Let's –"

There was a shout from outside the dungeon door, and people suddenly started moving hastily away from the cells. "What_ now_?" said Hermione, leading the others through the crowd to where a flustered-looking trainee had a small redheaded person by the arm.

"_Quin?_" exclaimed both Ron and Hermione at the same time. The boy, who had been struggling wildly against the trainee, looked up in a mixture of fear and relief. "Professor! You've got to come, we – "

"What are you _doing here, _Mr. Weasley?" Hermione snapped, almost on automatic. She wasn't quite prepared to deal with this situation after everything that had happened that night, but luckily her Professor's autopilot took over.

"There's no time for _that_," argued Quin, shaking free of his captor with exasperation. "We've got Mr. Jenson – I mean, Har– "

"_We_?" Hermione spluttered, "who's _we_?"

"Me and Beth and William," Quin said, a little sheepishly. "But its –"

Draco interrupted. "Where's Harry?" he asked sharply.

Quin pointed. Draco dove round the corner, disappearing in a flash of silver. "Lead the way, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione, darkly. Quin ran round the corner and up a flight of stairs to where two huddled figures knelt beside a third. Draco was having an argument with a mousy-haired boy who now looked thoroughly relieved to see the army of people approaching up the stairs.

"Found help," said Quin, non-abashed.

"Professor!" Beth squeaked. She held a bundle carefully in her arms. The group came up beside the children and stood staring at them, unsure of what to do. Hermione's mind was a blank. She looked down at the bloodied man she had come to know as Jenson, then at Beth and the bundle, which started to cry as they stood in silence, and then at Ron, whose face was a dark storm. "Is he…" she heard herself asking.

"He's alive," said William, quickly. "I thought I oughtn't to take the spike out."

"You were right," she said. "He needs a Healer, fast."

"The prisoners are going to straight to St. Mungo's," volunteered one of the trainees. "That's orders."

"Fake orders," Ron growled.

"We should do it anyway," argued Beau, "even if Connolly turned out to be a Death Eater, there are still people waiting for us there… right?"

Hermione left them to argue about it. She tried not to look at Jenson's face, afraid of what she might see there. Instead she went to Beth, and pulled back the corner of the cloak. The baby stopped crying and looked up at her, dark-haired and bloodied. His eyes were a bright, emerald green. So familiar. She snatched back her hand as if it had been burned, and looked down at the injured man on the floor. It still didn't look like Harry, not… not _really_. But she knelt down and touched his dirtied face, and suddenly she knew.

"Hermione?" She looked up at Ron through a haze of tears.

"We take him to the boats," Beau voiced the decision. He beckoned forward some trainees, who lifted the man carefully and moved quickly out of sight, to the exit. Draco went with them without a word. "Now let's get the hell out of this place."

They walked together in near-silence. Hermione, forcing herself to keep her duty as a Hogwarts Professor foremost in her mind, kept the students close around her. She noticed that all three of them looked pale and scared. She found herself wondering what they might have seen, and then wished she hadn't wondered.

"You three are going to St. Mungo's too," she said, as they neared the door to the outside. Wind howled in their ears. The children looked up at her, surprised. "I want to check you weren't hurt," she explained.

"Will died," Quin muttered.

"I did not," Will said, while sharing a meaningful glance with his Charms Professor.

"I see," she said. "Well, you'd better tell them, Mr. Ross. When all this is over."

"Tell us _what_?" said Quin.

"Later," said William, who looked like he might fall asleep on his feet.

They emerged into the open air, and everyone stopped to breathe in the clean air, thick with salt but shockingly refreshing after the stench of death and filth.

"Let's go home," said Beth.

oO0Oo

There are things he doesn't remember. They wait, lurking, on the edge of his mind, drawn out by pain and fear and poison. Memories that could hurt him if they knew, that some part of him knew he had to hide, made more and more possible each time they tried, each time they pierced his skin, entered his mind. Things he knew, places he went to. People he loved.

oO0Oo

He was numb. It was bright. He was lying on something soft… a bed? He twitched a finger, experimentally. He only just managed it. What had happened to him? He remembered Bellatrix, and Rodolphus, and the snakes, and then the baby had cried… his baby. His son…

And he had killed her. He had seen her eyes mist over in death. But he hadn't meant to, he'd been holding the dagger and he'd only been trying to protect himself from… her.

Why wasn't he dead? She'd stabbed him, hadn't she? And then…

His eyes flickered open. The brightness was sunlight, harsh and painful after all his years in darkness. He groaned.

"Harry?"

He looked to one side. There was a woman sitting beside him. A young woman with red hair cropped behind her ears, staring at him with wide eyes. "Harry?" she said again, a fearful lilt in her voice.

He frowned.

"Who are you?"

oO0Oo

The End.

oO0Oo

Wow. Finally. Thank you everyone, so much for all your support over the last 14 months. But don't worry, it isn't over yet. Watch out for _Still Fighting_, the sequel to _Still Alive_, in which all is explained, and Harry finally gets a chance to be re-accepted by his friends.

The completed soundtrack, with art and lyrics for each song, will soon be available on my livejournal, the link for which can be found on my profile. Watch that space!

Love!!

Kim.


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